


These Things We Do

by Weasleychick32



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Corny, Denial, Disabled Castiel, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Character Death, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Soldier Castiel, Soldier Dean, Time Skips, mild homophobia, war on iraq
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4284318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weasleychick32/pseuds/Weasleychick32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is at the end of his rope. He's always hated the waiting. He wants to be the one out there braving gunfire and jumping out of helicopters and maybe not Saving the Day, but certainly saving someone's day. But he hasn't been that person for years. Now it's just Dean.</p><p>The waiting gets exponentially worse when a military number starts calling him daily only weeks before Dean is due home for good. Castiel can think of only one reason for the incessant calls and it's one that he can't face, not even long enough to answer the phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is going to have scenes taking place both in present day and with flashbacks (the literary kind) to previous years so it's important to pay attention to the dates at the start of every scene change.
> 
> That being said I sincerely hope you like this! I worked hard on it and am in love with NavySeal!Dean and PararescueJumper!Cas. This fic was only supposed to be a little short thing but it just kept growing so I had to split it into 2 parts. Oh well. 
> 
> This fic is unbetaed so if you see any mistakes please point it out. Leave a comment and let me know what you think!

**Present Day: May 24th, 2015 - Castiel**

 

Castiel and Dean didn’t meet in the most conventional of ways. Then again, nothing about them is really at all conventional. Castiel is a retired pararescueman adrenaline junkie who, nowadays, gets his kicks with his season pass to the local amusement park. Dean is an active Navy SEAL who seems to spend every other year deployed out somewhere and his time at home is littered with smaller deployments that last anywhere from a few days to six months. Castiel has gotten used to waiting.

It wasn’t an easy adjustment at first. Castiel was used to being the one out there, saving people and doing good. Now he just waits for Dean to come home. He’s found ways of coping. He volunteers at the local animal rescue shelter on days when he’s not working training young Air Force hopefuls on how to strategize in the field. He started meeting with the other spouses and significant others left behind by deployed loved ones after a few months of slowly going insane and they passed on a few great tips.

They introduced him to a few ways to measure time while Dean is away on those year long deployments. One is where you buy a 12 pack of soda and drink a can at the end of every month. There’s another where Dean buys Castiel enough Hershey kisses that Cas can have a kiss from Dean for everyday that he’s gone.

Castiel’s favorite is one that Dean came up with himself and Castiel isn’t allowed to tell anyone about at the risk of Dean losing his Man Card or some other such nonsense (Cas told all of the ladies and gents at the spouse meeting, but Dean doesn’t know). Dean bought Cas a teddy bear and then just before Dean left he gave the bear a hug so that whenever Cas starts to miss Dean he can hug the bear and receive a hug from Dean. It’s cheesy and ridiculous, but Cas loves it. Mostly because he gets to see Dean blush everytime he looks at the Deanbear.

Dean also makes a list of things for Cas to do while he’s gone. Not chores or anything unpleasant, but a list Castiel can look to anytime he’s feeling particularly morose. Item number one on the list is take Baby, Dean’s shiny black 1967 Chevy Impala, for a long highway drive and then give her a wash when he gets back. Dean insists that Cas do this at least once a month. Item number two on the list is prank Sam. Cas has only done this twice, but both times were executed flawlessly and he even managed to get pictures that he then sent to Dean. Needless to say, Dean loved them and it never fails that they get pulled out and shown around during every family gathering.

Castiel is sitting on the end of the bed in his and Dean’s small one bedroom apartment looking over this list when his cell phone rings. He removes it from his pocket and stares down at the number calling him in confusion. It’s a military number, he’s absolutely positive. But the only time Castiel receives calls from military numbers nowaday is when Dean calls him and Dean just said in his last phone call that he won’t be able to call again before he returns in two weeks. He also said that when he returns he’s going to retire from active status, which Castiel truly couldn’t be more thrilled about. He’s tired of waiting.

Castiel’s index finger hovers over the green answer button for a moment, but then he freezes in place as a most unwelcome thought strikes him. What if it’s someone calling about Dean? What if something happened to him? What if…

A few years ago Dean changed his emergency contact from Sam to Castiel under the reasoning that Castiel is the one waiting for him to come home. Sam is too of course, but the brothers haven’t lived together in years. And sometime in the past decade Dean and Cas have grown from a ‘ _Let’s see where this goes_ ’ relationship, into a ‘ _I can’t imagine my life with anyone else so let’s move in together and argue over whose turn it is to wash the dishes_ ’ relationship.

Castiel sucks in a deep breath when he realizes that he isn’t breathing. Black spots dance across his vision. He’s missed the call. Relief curls tentatively in his chest. If they can’t tell him then it can’t be real. Two more weeks. Only two weeks and Dean will be home to stay. Castiel will see Dean step off the airplane two weeks from today and then it won’t matter that some military number tried to call Castiel. Besides, if it was truly important they would leave a voicemail.

Just as the thought crosses Castiel’s mind his phone starts up again. It’s the same number. His breath catches in his throat. He can’t do it. He can’t. He won’t. Cas snatches up his list and picks the first item his eyes land on. He stomps out of his apartment, leaving his phone still lit and ringing on his bed.

After a quick stop at the flower shop Castiel heads straight to the cemetery, a small bouquet in each hand. The first bouquet, yellow tulips gets set gently upon Dean’s mother’s grave. Castiel never brings anything for John Winchester, despite his being Mary’s neighbor, because after hearing of the way he raised both Dean and Sam, Castiel can’t say he particularly likes the man. But Dean only ever has wonderful things to say about his mother, so Castiel gladly brings her flowers anytime he finds himself stopping by the cemetery. And he can tell how much that means to Dean.

He only visits with Mary for a few minutes today before moving on to his true destination; his best friend. His eyes start watering uncontrollably as soon as he claps eyes on the still gleaming polished stone. Castiel drops to his knees in front of the stone, his vision so badly blurred by his tears that he can’t even read the familiar words carved into the rock.

“I can’t do it again. Please, don’t make me do it again. _Please_. Please.”

Castiel weeps.

 

**August 14th, 2005 - Dean**

 

Fucking sand. Dean hates sand. He _loathes_ it. Sand is the devil, no. The  _Antichrist_ ; luring you in with false promises of beautiful beaches and refreshing water and cabana boys and rum only to turn on you at the last second and get under your clothes and in your eyes and _everywhere fucking else_ and sting your skin and annoy the hell out of you.

Not that Dean is anywhere near the beach (or cabana boys or rum or anything pleasant really). The opposite actually. He’s in the middle of a desert getting shot at as he crawls up a steep sand dune on his belly allowing hot sand to pour down the top of shirt. He doesn’t dare lift himself any higher though and risk making himself an easier target.

It’s okay though. Really. He got split up from his team and he’s perfectly okay with being the red herring while everyone else gets the hell out. Only he’s not really a red herring since he’s the one with the stolen intelligence in the form of a flash drive in his pocket.

_Fuck!_

Red hot pain shoots up Dean’s calf and he knows he’s been hit. He barely falters in his climb as that knowledge sinks in and keeps going. There’s nothing he can do about it other than hope it’s not too bad. He finally reaches the crest of the dune and rolls over it to the other side and cover. _Finally_.

Now he can start to fight back.

He jogs (limps rapidly) along the dune several yards, the best he can on the hill with sand sliding out from under him every step and his leg burning and aching under him. He reaches a spot where the dune peeks highest and drops to his knees to set up. He wiggles out of the pack on his back and mashes it into a solid lump on the crest of the dune in front of him. Flumping down onto his belly, he adjusts his helmet and peeks just barely over the crest, ignoring the fresh stab of pain in his calf. He’ll worry about treating the wound and making sure he doesn’t bleed out if he survives the next few minutes.

There are seven tangos below. He settles his gun on top of his pack to steady it and peers through the scope to get a better look. Three are trying to climb the dune he’s perched upon, two are waiting at the bottom with their guns trained at roughly the spot he disappeared, and another two are yelling at each other in the shade of their facilities (faintly smoking thanks to the grenade Dean threw earlier after they got caught and had to improvise to get out) and not paying a lick of attention to Dean’s little hidey hole. Really they’d be too easy to just pick off right now. Sure, Dean’s nowhere near the sniper that Garth is and he doesn’t exactly have a fancy sniper rifle on him like what Garth carries, but he can aim and his trusty SCAR-L hasn’t let him down yet.

The thing is, Dean knows there’s gotta be at least one _real_ sniper over there somewhere waiting for him to make his first shot and give away his position. The first person Dean needs to take out has gotta be that sniper or else he’s dead. And they’ve had more time to get good and hidden unlike Dean and Dean’s only got until the first tango gets to the top of the dune before he needs to start shooting people. And that’s pushing it.

Dean presses his eye to his scope and frantically scans the roof and windows of the building he just fled from and his heart rate kicks up a notch or twelve because he doesn’t see _anything_. Sweat drips from his forehead into his eyes and all he can do it blink it away. God he wishes Garth was with him. He’s so much better at this. He could pick out a fully camouflaged sniper at 600 feet with only one eye open. He’s done it before.

Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, feeling his heart beat slow and his calm return. No, he doesn’t wish Garth was here. That’d mean Garth’s life would be on the line too and Dean doesn’t want that. Dean will be fine. He’s weaseled his way out of worse situations. He’s just gotta find that damn sniper and then he’ll be home free.

One more slow deep breath and he opens his eyes and tries again.

_There!_

It’s just the barest glint of a scope in the sun, but it’s all Dean needs.

Dean takes his shot and is rewarded with a spray of red along the grey roof. Dean turns his focus to the bickering pair and hopes and prays to God and several lesser known deities that it was a kill shot. He picks off the next two just as easily as he’d expected and then takes down the one closest to the top of the dune before moving back to pick off the two at the bottom of the hill as they yell and shoot up the dune trying to find him.

The last two that had been climbing the dune to get to him have now turned tail and are running as fast as they can back down. Dean puts a bullet in each of their backs and silence descends thick and heavy over the desert.

Which, okay, Dean feels pretty shitty about, but he’s got people to come home to. Something that he justifies his actions with way too much out here. It doesn’t make the heavy gross feeling deep in his gut go away, but it lets him pack up his gear and start to jog west back towards base. He only makes it a few steps before the harsh stinging in his calve reminds him that he’s injured and should probably do something about that before he ends up dead despite his best efforts.

He drops to a knee in the sand and untucks his pant leg from his boot, carefully peeling the fabric away from the wound. It’s not bad he decides. Just a graze more than anything. Kinda deep, but nothing to get sent home over.

He makes quick work of rinsing it with the water in his pack and wrapping it up. He’ll redo it with a bit more care when he gets back to base. Speaking of…

Dean detaches his long range radio from his belt and turns it on as he resumes his jog.

“Captain Kirk to the Enterprise. Anybody home? Over.”

“Spock here,” responds a cool female voice, sounding entirely unamused with Dean’s code names. But Dean’s not entirely surprised. From what he knows about Tamara she’s all business no pleasure. She used to not be, but after her husband was taken hostage and killed she changed and really, no one can blame her. “What’s your status? Over.”

“A little banged up, but still shiny,” Dean replies, shamelessly mixing his Firefly and Star Trek references. “And in need of a lift. Over.”

“You’re in luck. We’ve got Angels in route. We just need your coordinates. Over.”

Dean glances down at the GPS reading on his wrist watch and reads out the coordinates. There’s a pause in the radio conversation and Dean knows that Tamara’s relaying the information and setting up his air lift with the on duty PJs. Pararescue jumpers, because hey, even Navy SEALs need guardian angels sometimes.

“Angels ETA 12 minutes,” Tamara comes back. “It’ll be a scoop. Do you have the package? Over.”

Dean’s stomach drops. A scoop means that they’re going to drop a ladder and he’s going to climb up while they fly off back towards base. You’d think with all the air travel that’s required by a SEAL Dean would have gotten over his fear of flying after a few years, but no. It’s still going strong.

“Copy that,” Dean barks into the radio and then pushes his fear out of his mind by focusing on his team. “I have the package. Did my fleet make it back on board? Over.”

“Unconfirmed,” Tamara replies briskly. “Last known location was waist deep in the pot with mild burns. Over.”

Dean bites back a curse. His team has only made it halfway back and at least one of them is injured. Last base knew anyway. That could have been five minutes ago or half an hour for all Dean knows. He’d hoped his distraction would have been enough to get them out of there safe, but the tangos could have split up and gone after them too. All Dean can do is grit his teeth and hope that no one was hurt too badly and that they make it back to base soon.

“Thanks Spock,” Dean grunts into the radio despite not feeling the least bit thankful for the less than good news. “Over and out.”

Dean switches off the radio and tucks it back into the equipment belt on his hips. He scans the desert behind him and picks up his pace. There’s no telling how long it’ll be before the tangos regroup and come after him. He’s hoping it’ll be after he’s long gone. Ten more minutes. He picks up his pace from a jog to closer to a run. It’s hell to run in sand and this kind of heat and with a leg injury, but it’s better than getting shot in the back for being too slow. It’s not like there’s anywhere to hide in the desert.

Not five minutes later Dean hears a high pitched whine in the distance. He stops and holds his breath as he listens, straining his ears to hear over the wind that never stops. It’s not the comforting whopwhopwhop of copter blades and it’s not coming from in front of him; the direction of his base and safety and backup. It’s coming from behind and is the sound of a small engine. Scratch that. Make that two or three small engines.

“Shit. Fucking fuck!” Dean curses, kicking the sand. The PJs are still at least five minutes out and Dean is a sitting duck for the tangos no doubt tracking him down in the fucking desert. Two seconds later the frustration and fear are carefully boxed away and Dean has a plan. It’s probably going to result in his death one way or another, but what the hell, right?

He yanks the radio off of his belt and turns it on.

“Spock you read me? It’s Kirk. Over.”

Tamara takes up a few of his precious seconds to respond.

“I read you. Over.”

“Tell the angels they’ll be scooping me out of a fire fight. Over and out.”

Dean turns off the radio without waiting for a reply and tucks it back into his belt. Without further ado he starts to climb. This dune is much steeper than the last one that he had to scramble up, but Dean figures that’s a good thing. It’ll be all the harder for the tangos to follow, and it gives him the high ground. Once he’s at the top he sends a cascade of sand down the side of the embankment, effectively covering his tracks and then back tracks a decent way back the way he came, covering his footprints as he goes. It’s not going to give him much time, but it’s better than nothing.

The engine sounds are getting close. Dean can now pick out the sound of three distinct engines. Probably a Polaris. Dean’s flattered, really. A Polaris can hold four soldiers, five or even six if you’re feeling ambitious. And they sent three of those bad boys after him, one man. At least a dozen guys just after him? If he survives this his ego is going to be unbearable. Jo will take it upon herself to bring it back down by sharing embarrassing childhood reminiscences and Dean will have to pretend to mind.

Dean shakes the thoughts from his mind. He needs to focus on the here and now. He’s got less than a minute before they reach him, and another three before the PJs get here. Two minutes doesn’t seem like a long time until you’re trying your best not to die against all odds.

Dean pulls out his pistol and his assault rifle and sets to burying himself in the sand just over the ridge. If all goes well he can just hide here until the PJs show up and whisk him away. But he’s going to be ready to fight with all he’s got just in case.

The sand is hot as hell and the last thing Dean wants is to have to lay in it, but he does anyway. Once he’s good and covered, leaving only a small opening for his face so he can see and breathe, he goes still and waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Two transports come into view, four armed tangos in each, driving right over Dean’s path, no doubt following his footprints. The two machines pass by Dean’s hiding spot and roll to a stop where Dean’s tracks disappear. A guy in the lead vehicle yells something into a radio, but Dean can’t hear anything over the loud whining idle of the machines. The tangos have their weapons in hand and are scanning the sand looking for Dean, but their eyes pass over him.

The tango with the radio shouts something else and then they shut down their vehicles, leaving the desert in an eery silence with only the persistent rush of the wind and the slight ticking of the cooling engines. The radio guy waves a hand motion and the tangos spill from the vehicles, guns held at the ready and eyes sharp and searching. Dean tries not to breathe.

They start searching forward of where Dean’s trail stops, but half of them are systematically working their way back towards him. He’s got maybe a minute until they’re on top of him and about that long until his Angels are due.

Dean takes a silent breath and embraces the calm that follows. Adrenaline is bursting through his veins, but it clears his head instead of fogging it. He looks back down towards the two Polaris’s. Two… Dean frowns. He could have sworn he heard three…

A suppressed sneeze from behind is all it takes for the puzzle pieces to fall into place. And then everything starts happening at once. A helicopter pops over the western horizon and Dean surges up from his hiding spot in an explosion of sand, pistol in hand, and immediately starts firing to his flank. The first tango goes down not even two feet away from Dean with a surprised grunt and a spurt of red from the fancy new hole between his eyes.

Dean fires once more taking out another of the four man group that tried to sneak up from behind him from the missing third Polaris. He pulls the trigger a third time and is met with a hollow sounding click. Dean pulls once, twice more, but it’s no use. His pistol is jammed. _Fucking **SAND**_.

The element of surprise is worn off and Dean is down to one gun. Well… He hurls his pistol and smacks into the face of a tango to Dean’s right with enough force to send him tumbling down the dune. He doesn’t get back up.

 _Now_ he’s down to one gun.

The chopper is closing in and the ladder has been dropped, but there’s no way Dean is going to be able to ride out of here on it without getting torn to shreds. He’s going to have to take out at least most of the tangos before he can go anywhere, but he’s just one man with a long range gun about to be fighting in close quarters with tangos on either side of him.

He’s probably going to die, he decides, but they’ll have to really work for it.

Dean swings around his assault rifle and takes out another tango who didn’t quite drop quick enough. He’s forced to crouch after that as the tangos from the first group start firing. While having the high ground makes it easier to attack, it also puts you up on this pedestal to be shot at. It would be fine and dandy if Dean could flip to the other side of the crest, but he’s got bad company on that side too.

Dean fires again at the last tango on his flank, but the fucker is using their Polaris as cover and Dean can’t get a clear shot. The tango apparently can though. The bullet hits Dean straight in the chest and is probably going to leave a nasty bruise despite his bullet proof vest. As it is, it knocks him onto his back, punching the air out of his lungs, but he quickly flips to his belly and fires on the first group again. He takes out two more, but they’ve got the numbers and Dean’s not going to last much longer.

No sooner does the thought cross his mind than the chopper reaches them, hovering overhead and spitting sand everywhere with enough force to break skin. The tangos duck away and try to shield their faces and Dean uses the opportunity to pick them off. Two more are down before the four left start to fire upon the chopper. The chopper has no choice but to pull back up and away or risk being shot down at such close range, but Dean appreciates the distraction as it flies over the top of him.

Sand kicks up just an inch away from Dean’s left elbow, a near miss courtesy of the tango behind the Polaris to Dean’s backside. _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_. As soon as the sand dies back down, Dean’s a goner.

A body thumps to the ground close enough to Dean to knock his right elbow and inspires another round of gunfire from the group one tangos. Dean immediately rolls to the left and brings up his gun, but stops with the barrel an inch from the nose of the guy next to him. He’s a PJ judging by his uniform and currently leveling Dean with a very blue and unimpressed stare.

Dean immediately lowers his gun and points it back to the enemy.

“Dude, did you just jump?!” Dean yells before his brain can catch up with his mouth.

“Yes. It’s my job. It’s even in the title. Pararescue _jumper_ ,” the guy states, bitterly dry and merciless.

Dean scoffs, a grin pulling his lips despite his reluctance to encourage the guy.

“Fucking insane,” he mumbles.

“What have we got?” the PJ asks and takes a shot at one of the group one tangos. The bullet catches his side and then another follows up and finishes the job.

“Three to the front. One behind, but I can’t get a good shot at him. He’s covered behind the Polaris.”

“I’ll take front you take back,” the PJ responds.

Dean rolls his eyes, but scuttles around on his belly until he’s facing the final member of tango group two. Dean can barely seen the barrel of the gun pointed his way. There’s no way he’ll be able to actually hit the guy, covered as he is now, but he can take a few shots to keep him wary. Sure enough, Dean shoots a few times and the barrel of the gun disappears. Dean’s smug smirk disappears an instant later though when his helmet flies off his head with the force of a bullet.

“Shit!” Dean yells and ducks his head down.

“Are you alright?” the PJ asks, not taking his eyes off his targets.

“For now!” Dean barks. “I thought you were taking care of those guys!"

“Working on it,” PJ grunts and then a moment later, “Clear to the north.”

“Thank fuck. Get on that side of the hill,” Dean orders and pulls his last grenade from his equipment belt. The PJ glances once at the grenade and then hurries to obey.

Dean pulls the pin and throws it before hurrying after, not bothering to get to his feet, instead just rolling down the dune. The following explosion throws sand and bits of metal over both Dean and PJ. A sharp bit of shrapnel slices across Dean’s cheek, but he hardly feels it through all of the adrenaline still pumping through him.

“Woo that got hairy,” Dean exclaims, getting gingerly to his feet and not even bothering to try and dust himself off.

He’s got sand in all sorts of places that he can’t do nothin’ about in present company. Dean casts a glance at the PJ speaking into his radio, probably calling back the chopper  and makes a quick decision. He hikes back up the dune and down the other side, (first makes sure there’s no sign of the last tango standing. There isn’t) and grabs his jammed pistol and his helmet. There’s a nice clean hole right at the top back side of it. It was a near miss.

Dean hesitates for a moment and then drops the thing back in the sand. He sure as hell doesn’t need the reminder and as far as he’s concerned, no one on his team ever needs to know. And heaven forbid _Sammy_ stumble across it. He’d pull Dean out of the military entirely then and there and be done with it.

Dean turns his back on the thing and stumbles his way back to other side of the dune. His hurt leg is really starting to ache now that his adrenaline rush is fading. He’ll take care of it back at base. It’s not serious. For now though he makes his way back to where his PJ is waiting patiently.

“Dean Winchester,” Dean greets properly, sticking out his hand to the PJ who saved his ass.

The PJ wipes his hand on the side of his pants and then takes Dean’s hand in his.

“Castiel Novak,” he says and pumps Dean’s hand once and lets go.

Dean looks over Castiel properly for the first time and he’s gotta say he’s pretty pleased. Course, they’re both covered in sweat and sand, but Castiel looks damn good in his uniform. Strong arms and sturdy shoulders that taper into a narrow waist. But it’s those eyes that Dean keeps coming back to. Steady and clear and, as Jo would say, hella blue. Like, bluer than the sky most days, even. Coupled with the little peeks of dark sweaty hair Dean can see peeking out from under Castiel’s helmet Dean comes to the conclusion, Castiel is hot. Too sexy to be allowed in any kind of uniform.

Dean’s sexy thoughts are interrupted by the return of the helicopter, ladder still hanging below. Dean’s stomach drops.

“We’re still scooping?” he asks, voice almost pitched to a whine. _Almost_.

Castiel shoots him a look, eyebrows raised.

“Of course. It’s the most efficient way to evacuate,” he states.

Dean grimaces.

“Yeah, okay, but what’s a few extra minutes really? We already took care of the bad guys. How about we just take it easy?”

Dean knows he being childish and maybe a touch unreasonable, but he really really really hates flying. Especially when he has to ride _OUTSIDE_ the aircraft even if only for a few minutes until he can climb inside. He’s allowed to be particular. Castiel tilts his head sideways and regards him quietly.

“There are going to be more. We need to leave as quickly as possible.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue, but then Castiel continues.

“Also, your team returned to base about ten minutes ago. They’ve been requesting after you.”

Dean shuts his mouth with a scowl and the anxiety over the well being of his team swiftly mixes with the fear of flying. They made it back to base. That’s good. But they still reported someone as being injured and Dean isn’t going to get any peace until he sees that they’re all okay.

“Fine,” Dean grumbles.

The chopper glides over the top of them, stirring up sand and this time Dean allows himself the luxury of shielding his eyes.

“You first,” Castiel shouts over the noise of the blades and the resulting wind.

Dean steels himself and then starts up the ladder. He feels Castiel start climbing behind him, making the ladder jiggle and sway. He gets about midway up when the helicopter starts to fly back to base. Dean freezes in place, his muscles locking and his arms weaving in between the rungs and curling around the sides of the ladder without his permission.

“ _Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit_ ,” Dean chants, voice spiking in pitch.

His eyes slam shut.

“Dean, are you alright? Why did you stop?”

Castiel has to shout to be heard over the wind.

The wind steals away Dean’s slightly hysterical laugh and he shakes his head.

“Are you injured? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like flying,” Dean replies, but again it’s lost to the wind.

“What?”

“I DON’T LIKE FLYING!” Dean bellows, eyes still squeezed shut and his body tense and locked in place.

He rests his forehead against a rung and focuses on breathing. The last thing he needs, the _very last thing_ , is to pass out and fall to his death because he started hyperventilating or something stupid like that.

Castiel never responds. Or maybe he does, but Dean doesn’t hear it. Instead it’s a long 20 minutes of humming classic rock, sharp and off tempo, while they fly back to base.

They finally make it back and are hovering over the helicopter pad, but Dean’s stuck. His muscles are frozen. He can’t move. He can’t let go. If he does he’ll probably fall and crack his skull open anyway.

“Let me help.”

If Dean was capable of jumping out of his skin he would have. When did Castiel get right next to him? Dean stares, feeling a bit dazed as Castiel carefully pries his fingers from their death grip on the edge of the ladder. Once the hand is released, he slowly unwinds Dean’s arm until it’s free from the maze of rungs and rope and then places his hand back on the rung. Castiel then leans against him to reach across and do the same to Dean’s other arm.

The feel of body heat soaking through Dean’s clothes and the warm breath skimming across the back of his neck do more to ground Dean than anything thing else. Dean’s sorry to see him go when Castiel leans back and looks Dean in the eye.

“Are you okay to climb down now?” he asks.

Dean doesn’t trust his voice so instead he nods, one sharp downward movement. The manliest nod there is.

“Alright. I’ll go first and you follow,” Castiel says, calmly and patiently like dealing with pathetic scaredy cat SEALs is nothing new to him.

Castiel climbs down the ladder and is on the ground in only a few seconds. Dean hastens to follow, ready to be on the ground and not leave it for a good long while. His legs shake, but they support him and eventually both of his feet are on the ground. Dean releases his breath and Castiel is there in an instant, guiding him off the landing pad and around the corner where Dean collapses against the wall gratefully, head thunking back against the metal as he sucks in deep slow breaths to calm his racing heart and shaking hands.

“Are you alright?”

Dean almost flinches. Once again he didn’t notice Castiel’s proximity until the man spoke. Dean opens his eyes and turns his head to see the PJ sitting beside him, brow crinkled with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out raspy.

“If you’re sure,” Castiel replies.

They sit only for another few seconds in easy silence before Dean struggles up to his feet, wincing as he places weight on his injured leg. He’ll take care of it later. He’s gotta check on his team.

“You’re injured,” Castiel states, having seen his grimace.

Castiel rises to his feet and looks Dean up and down before zeroing in on Dean’s calf where his pants are torn and bloody. Dean rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine. I’ll clean it up better later.”

“No. I’ll do it now,” Castiel says, tone and level blue stare brooking no argument.

“No, you won’t. I’m going to go check on my team now,” Dean argues back, fighting to keep his voice level even as his blood pressure starts to creep higher.

“Treating your injuries is the priority. I’ll take care of the shrapnel cut on your face, too,” Castiel says.

“ _No_. I’m going to go check on my team,” Dean bites out through clenched teeth.

“It will only take a few minutes,” Castiel insists, starting to lose his cool. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“Am not,” Dean retorts even though he knows perfectly well that he is. “My team is the priority. One of them was reported as being injured and it’s my job to make sure they’re taken care of. So excuse me,” Dean says coldly and shoulders past the pushy PJ and starts towards what everyone calls the Town Square, but is really just the flat patch of dirt in front of the mess hall.

But Castiel just won’t take a fucking hint.

“And it’s my job to treat your injuries.”

“I thought it was your job to jump out of flying shit,” Dean says and picks up his pace.

Castiel matches him step for step.

“My job has many different facets,” Castiel replies with a condescending quirk of his lips. “One of them appears to be arguing common sense to thick headed _neanderthals_ who are more concerned with their perceived masculinity than their well being.”

“How long have you been waiting to use that one?” Dean mumbles and rounds the corner of a gray metal building that looks just like all the other gray metal buildings. Dean catches a brief glimpse of his team kicking around dirt and horsing around and then Castiel is in his face, blue eyes hard and unyielding.

“If I need to sit on you and hold you down while I dress your wounds then, God help me, I will,” Castiel growls.

A spike of heat sparks deep in Dean’s belly, but he shoves it away and instead latches onto the anger unfurling hot in his chest.

“You aren’t the only one who’s job it is to take care of people. Now get out of my way,” Dean snarls.

“No,” Castiel says, eyes narrow and shoulders square.

Dean bares his teeth. They’re toe to toe, glaring each other down, green versus blue. when suddenly, Meg breaks the tension.

“Holy shit my ovaries just exploded,” she stage whispers to Jo.

Dean backs down, breaking eye contact to scoff at her and the now sniggering Jo.

“Gross, Masters,” Dean says, forcing levity into his tone.

His team is here; Jo, Meg, Garth, Ash, and Benny. They all look fine, if a bit sweaty and dirty and incredibly curious. He feels his stance relax just at the knowledge that they’re all safe and well enough to be giving him shit.

“Tamara said someone reported in as injured,” Dean says, carefully looking them over a second time. He doesn’t even see any dried blood.

Meg snorts.

“Garth tripped and hit his funny bone,” she says while Ash and Jo laugh. Dean closes his eyes briefly and sighs before refocusing on the children he calls his team.

“And ya’ll thought it’d be funny to report it in and give me a heart attack?” he demands.

The laughter fades out and they all look properly chastised so Dean lets it go.

“Sorry Cap. Won’t happen again,” Ash says.

Dean snorts. “Don’t lie to me. And don’t you all have something to be doing?” Dean asks, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at them.

Jo snorts and shares a smirk with Ash.

“Yeah making sure our commanding officer gets... taken care of,” Jo says the last words slowly with a sidelong glance at Cas who is still standing ridiculously close to Dean even though he’s turned now so he can see both Dean and his team as they tease each other.

Dean glares at her and she thankfully drops it without further comment. Of course his team knows his sexual preferences (or lack thereof), but still, being anything other than heterosexual is not a fun thing to be in any branch of the Military and if having a comfortable time means not being entirely forthcoming about exactly who all he likes to screw in his time off, then so be it.

“So how bout you quit bitching and let your angel patch you up,” Meg adds and raises a challenging eyebrow.

“I’m not his angel,” Cas says, inserting himself into the argument.

“It just what we call PJ’s dude,” Ash informs him. “And you brought Dean home so that makes you his angel.

“Heavenly deliverance from above,” Garth waxes poetic.

“Thank you, Garth,” Dean says into the awkward silence that Garth always seems to be immune to and yet leaves in his wake like a snail laying down a slime trail.

Garth smiles airly back while Meg mocks him to his left.

“Meg, knock it off. Benny, could you get the package to the Colonel.” Dean tosses Benny the flash drive that they just went through hell to retrieve and Benny catches it effortlessly.

“Sure thang brotha. You just make sure you get them scratches patched up. The Enterprise can’t fly without’cha.”

Dean snorts.

“Oh and Meg’s drawing on Garth again,” Benny adds before turning and practically running away to deliver the intel. Dean whirls on Meg. Two seconds. He looked away for _two fucking seconds_.

“Meg! For fuck’s sake leave Garth alone! Ash, Jo, don’t think I don’t know you’re encouraging her!”

Jo and Ash cackle and run off to wherever they go when they aren’t terrorizing the rest of the team. Meg just smirks and saunters off twirling the permanent marker between her fingers while Garth smiles haplessly, seemingly unconcerned with the glasses and black hitler mustache newly adorning his face.

“It’ll wash off eventually,” he says with a smile and then wanders away towards the mess hall. “I hope they have peas tonight.”

Dean scrubs a hand roughly down his face causing sand to sprinkle off of him like glitter.

“They’re children,” he groans, voice muffled against his palm. “I run a daycare of oversized kindergarteners.”

“If it’s any consolation, as a patient you are on par with a five year old so you correlate nicely with your comrades,” Castiel tells him, voice steady and unperturbed, but with a line between his eyebrows so deep it’s in danger of becoming permanent.

Dean gapes at him for an extended moment and then a laugh bursts out his mouth and tips his head back.

“Touche,” he says to Castiel with a grin.

Castiel hesitates, unsure of how to handle the sudden change.

“Does this mean you are going to cooperate now?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Dean says with a wink.

Dean plops down on the cement and hikes up his pant leg so Castiel can get to the wound. The blood soaked through Dean’s hastily done bandaging, but it’s mostly dried now. Dean doesn’t think it’ll need stitches, but it should get cleaned and patched over properly. It would be about as smart as inviting a starving lion into a hen house to wind up with an infection out here.

“I shouldn’t have to ask nicely. Attending to your injuries should be instinctual self preservation,” Castiel mutters, one knee to the ground as he opens the first aid kit from his backpack and starts digging around for supplies.

“Speaking of self preservation!”

Dean looks up, past Castiel to the speaker, a dirty blonde haired man with a British accent and a strained false smile as he lasers in on Castiel. Castiel freezes in his movements and closes his eyes as though he’s bracing himself for something, but it’s only for an instant before he’s back to dousing gauze with iodine.

“Not now, Balthazar,” he says quietly without turning to face the man.

“No, I think now is the only time I’ll get. I know you. You’ll just bugger off to who knows where as soon as the work is done and I won’t get the chance to say my piece,” the man, Balthazar, says, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling down at the back of Castiel’s head. Castiel ignores the hot stare and cleans the shrapnel cut on Dean’s face and sticks a bandage over it, ignoring how Dean winces at the sting.

“Did the possibility ever occur to you-,”

“That you don’t want to hear it? Yes. But I don’t _care_ , Cassie. You were reckless out there and-,”

“I was doing my _job_.”

Dean clenches his teeth as Castiel begins gently dabbing a new iodine swab to his leg wound, hand motions careful and sure, contrary to the growing hardness in his tone of voice.

“Yes well, your _job_ gave you a partner for a reason and it wasn’t to leave them behind while you go solo into enemy territory. You just _jumped_ out of the fucking chopper without two words to me.”

Balthazar’s cheeks grow steadily pinker and his shoulders are taut and his jaw tight. Castiel, on the other hand, is for all appearances calm although that furrow between his brows remains ever present.

“Someone needed to go. The mission-,”

“ _The mission is not worth your life_ ,” Balthazar snaps, any semblance of cool falling away as he drops his hands to fist at his sides.

Castiel’s calm steady movements cease. He manages to finish smoothly applying the bandage to Dean’s calve and then his hands fist and he rises to his feet and turns to face Balthazar, shoulders square and chin raised and defiant. Dean shoves down his pant leg and gets to his feet behind Castiel, but continues to stand there awkwardly. Not that either of the arguing pair take any notice.

“It is my duty-,”

“Oh for God’s sake, Castiel,” Balthazar interrupts, throwing his hands in the air and turning away briefly, but Castiel raises his voice to continue to be heard and his words do not falter.

“-as a pararescueman to save life and to aid the injured. I will be prepared at all times to perform my assigned duties quickly and efficiently-,”

“Castiel _really_ -,”

Castiel raises his voice further yet and powers on.

“-placing these duties before personal desires and comforts. These things I do, that others may live.”

“I’m ever so pleased that you still remember the whole dreary schpiel,” Balthazar all but sneers, back straight and face hard. He takes a step towards Castiel. “But that doesn’t excuse the way you’ve been throwing yourself into these missions. _Yes_ , our job is to put others before ourselves. _Yes_ , our lives are on the line. But that doesn’t mean you get to do your damnedest to get yourself _killed_. As your friend Cassie, please stop this.” Balthazar’s face softens and his voice turns tender. “I’m worried about you.”

“Well stop,” Castiel says, unrelenting.

Balthazar jerks back as though slapped and then his features go blank.

“No. You may have ceased to care about yourself, but I refuse. If you don’t start taking care of yourself I’m going to be forced to go to Michael about this.”

“You wouldn’t,” Castiel says, but the way he tenses and the way his voice darkens betrays his true thoughts.

“I will. This is the last I will be coming to you over it. Next time, I will go directly to Michael,” Balthazar warns, and then steps back once, twice, and then he turns completely around and strides away. Castiel watches him go until he rounds the side of a dormitory and then his shoulders slump and he shoves a hand roughly through his thick black hair.

Dean clears his throat a bit and Castiel doesn’t quite flinch, but he suddenly tenses as though he’s just been reminded of Dean’s presence. He turns to face Dean and any trace of distress there may have been has been wiped from his features.

“You should heal fairly quickly. It was only a graze and there was no shrapnel left in the wound. Just change your dressings once a day or so and you’ll be at 100% within a week,” Castiel tells Dean’s left ear.

“Okay…”

“Also, I apologise for the… confrontation,” he continues, wincing a bit as though he wishes he had a better word prepared.

“Hey man it’s whatever,” Dean shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, watching Castiel’s blank face. “Happens… If you ain’t cheatin, you ain’t trying.”

“What?” Castiel, finally looks Dean in the eyes.

Dean shrugs again, looking past Castiel now rather than into the depths of his ridiculously blue eyes. Who needs that much pigment anyway? Who does this guy think he is being greedy like that?

“It’s uh… It’s a SEAL thing. Just means that the enemy isn’t playing by our rules so sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do to get it done and get everyone home, rules be damned. Or something like that anyway. Just, you know, don’t overdo it.”

Castiel nods slowly, a thoughtful frown in place.

“I see. That is… helpful. Thank you,” he finally says.

Dean meets his eyes now and smiles.

“It ain’t nothin’. But uh, you know,” Dean sticks his hand out, “thanks for the rescue.”

“Of course,” Castiel grasps Dean’s hand and they shake.

“Maybe you can be the damsel next time and I’ll be Prince Charming,” Dean says with a smirk. Castiel snorts and rakes his eyes up and down Dean’s body in a way that has every hair on Dean’s body standing at attention.

“Doubtful,” Castiel returns with a smirk of his own. And then he grabs his first aid kit and starts for the infirmary.

“You’re a dick!” Dean calls after him.

“Hmm? Oh yes, I’ve been told it’s an exceptionally pleasing component of my anatomy,” Castiel calls back over his shoulder. Dean stares for a moment and then lets out a bark of laughter. Castiel smiles at him over his shoulder and then disappears through the infirmary doors.

It’s the last Dean and Castiel will see of each other for over two years.

 

**Present Day: May 31st, 2014 - Castiel**

 

Castiel paces nervously. Every day for the past week they call right around this time. He doesn’t know who it is or what they want, seeing as he’s never quite been able to summon up the courage to answer, but he can guess. He tries to assuage his fears by telling himself, _If it were truly an important matter they would leave a voicemail_. This only works for the first few days. After that it becomes hard to convince himself that an unimportant matter would require them to call everyday, sometimes two or three times in a row.

But still he never answers. He doesn’t want to know. Everyday around this time he tries to ensure that he’s busy.

_Oh, I’ve taken on some extra hours at the animal shelter. I can’t answer the phone while I’m working._

_Oh dear, I’m in the middle of doing all of the laundry in the entire apartment. I couldn’t possibly find time to talk._

_Oh look at me, out to a late lunch with my boyfriend’s little brother. So sorry, no time to chat. Please stop calling me._

Well, he’s _supposed_ to be out with Sam right now, but Sam is late. He told Castiel that it would be no problem to pick him up and Castiel is now finding that it may have been a lie. Sam was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago. Of course, he probably just got held up with paperwork at his law practice, but that isn’t very reassuring to Castiel right now when his phone could ring any-

His phone lights up and a second later it starts to ring playing the intro to _Smoke on the Water_ ; the ringtone that Dean programed into it before he left for his latest deployment. Castiel snatches it up and is an instant from chucking it into the wall across the room when he catches a glimpse of Sam’s face lit up on the screen.

Castiel checks the action and instead hastily hits the green button and brings the phone to his ear.

“Where are you?” Castiel growls in lieu of a greeting. There’s a pause as Sam is no doubt taken aback.

“Cas? Are you okay? I was just letting you know I’m here. I got held up at the office. You know how it goes…” Sam trails off and Castiel immediately is consumed with guilt. It’s not Sam’s fault Castiel is so high strung and it’s certainly not his fault that those people keep calling. It was Castiel who asked Sam to lunch after all so it should be Castiel who is most eager for it to happen. He shouldn’t be biting Sam’s head off for something that they’ve all gotten quite used to in the last few years since Sam started his own law practice.

“My apologies Sam. I’m just…” Castiel trails off. Stressed? Nervous? Terrified? He doesn’t want to tell Sam about the calls. He _can’t_. Sam would want to answer them and Castiel just… he can’t do that.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m excited for Dean to come home too,” Sam responds through the speaker, just as kind and understanding as always and for once, completely wrong.

“Yes. Excited.” Castiel responds. “I’ll be down momentarily.”

“Okay…”

Castiel hangs up. Suddenly, he’s not so sure this was a good idea. There’s no way he can act normally around Sam. Sam has become one of his best friends over the years and has learned to read him almost as well as Dean has. Dean of course would take one look at Castiel as he is now and know that something is horribly horribly wrong.

Castiel is opening his front door when his phone starts to ring again and his heart stops cold in his chest. Slowly Castiel removes his phone from his pocket and looks at the screen. It’s that number. Helpless tears claw at his throat. He can’t do it. He can’t do it. He throws the phone onto the living room couch and runs out the front door of the apartment, slamming it closed behind him hard enough that his neighbor shouts something incomprehensible after him.

Castiel ignores her and continues his run, bypassing the elevator and bursting into the stairwell. It’s four stories down and technically Castiel isn’t supposed to do that many flights all in a row or as fast as he’s taking the stairs, but he does it anyway. He stumbles in the middle of the second flight and barely catches himself before tumbling down the rest of the way. It’s close, but it does it’s job in sending that spike of adrenaline through his bloodstream. He takes the last flight at a much slower pace, just enjoying the feeling of his heart racing like he so seldom gets to anymore.

Castiel slips into the passenger seat of Sam’s black SUV. Dean bitched for months over Sam’s choice of car while Sam maintained that the only reason he got it instead of the Camaro, like Dean wanted him to get, was because he can actually fit in this one comfortably. When Castiel agreed with Sam over the logic of the larger vehicle, Dean finally stopped complaining quite so often and so loudly, preferring instead to grumble to himself under his breath everytime he laid eyes on the thing.

“Are you okay? You’re all sweaty,” Sam points out from the driver’s side, not even bothering to shift into reverse. Instead he gazes over at Castiel with an unhealthy amount of care and concern.

“I took the stairs,” Castiel explains with a small smile still feeling the happy endorphins from his small burst of exercise. Sam frowns.

“I thought stairs were bad for you prosthetic,” he says with a half glance down at Castiel’s left leg despite it being invisible under his dress pants.

“Only when taken in excess,” Castiel reminds him, failing to remind him also that he’s supposed to go slowly.

“Oh okay,” Sam says and then finally shifts into reverse. “We going to the Roadhouse?”

“Of course. Ellen wrote on my wall of Facebook and ordered us to stop by,” Castiel says.

Sam nods knowingly.

“And you want to stay on her good side,” he says with a smirk over a Cas. Cas smirks back.

“Everyone wants to stay on Ellen Harvelle’s good side. Those on her bad side don’t live long.”

Sam laughs and the sound makes Castiel feel just a little bit better.

 

**October 3rd, 2007 - Castiel**

 

It was a fool’s errand, but then, most of their missions were. Yet, somehow they always seem to make it out just fine. They’re in Iraq, again. Damn this war. What Castiel wouldn’t give to go rescue a stranded mountain climber or someone could maybe get stuck in a tight spot in Spain. Spain is nice this time of year.

But no. They’re stuck in the heat and gunfire of Iraq. Currently, no one needs rescuing so Castiel, Balthazar, and Inias, the newest member of their team of six, are piloting an aircraft and providing air support for a team of SEALs on the ground.

Balthazar, being the best marksman on the team, has control of the aircraft’s gun. Not that there’s anything to shoot at yet. They’re not even within 10 miles of where the action is taking place so as to not give away the SEALs’ presence. It’s entirely aggravating to Castiel who’s job seems to be to fly them around in circles.

“I spy with my little eye something… brown,” Balthazar’s voice comes through Castiel’s headset.

Castiel sighs deeply and adjusts their course 2 degrees to the north just for the hell of it.

“Enough Hopper,” Castiel says tiredly, using Balthazar’s callsign as they always do in the field. Castiel was actually the one to give Balthazar his. Balthazar is their sniper when they have need of one. He’s their best marksman and there just so happens to be a type of insect called sharpshooter or leafhopper.

Everyone had laughed when Castiel first suggested Leafhopper as Balthazar’s callsign, but then Uriel called Balthazar Hopper ironically and it just kind of stuck. Balthazar is still pretty peevish about that.

“Is it sand?” Inias drones petulantly from where he’s slouched in the copilot’s seat.

“ _Dingdingding!_ An all expense paid meal of overcooked green beans and chewy spaghetti goes to our very own little Flounder!”

“Yippee,” Inias deadpans.

It was quickly discovered off the coast of Hong Kong that Inias was the most skilled of all of them in the water. The moniker Flounder didn’t take long to think up. Inias seems rather indifferent to the less than complimentary name, but really your call sign is more for your team’s pleasure than your own. Or at least that is Castiel’s experience.

“Keep the comm clear until we receive further orders,” Castiel commands.

“Aww. You’re no fun Connie,” Balthazar complains, but otherwise falls silent.

Castiel rolls his eyes. Balthazar is so fond of nicknames that he’s even gone and given Castiel’s nickname a nickname. The full name is Constantine. He has no idea why it was bestowed upon him other than the vague notion that it’s after a comic book character who similarly wears a trench coat (Castiel’s wardrobe of choice on days off) and also has a dry sense of humor. Or maybe it was a TV character. Castiel really doesn’t dwell on it too much. It’s just a name.

Oh, and he is also interested in men, although as Castiel understands it, the character is bisexual whereas Castiel is homosexual so he’s not entirely sure how that applies to him. But Balthazar suggested the name and Anna agreed (rather enthusiastically) so now Castiel is stuck being referred to by two ridiculously abnormal C-names.

“Angel Team Three Scout, do you copy?”

The female voice crackles through Castiel’s headset and he instantly recognizes Anna’s voice, their team leader.

“We read you Viper. What’s our status?”

“SEAL Team Eight Wolverine retrieved the package. They request air cover during retreat.”

“Coordinates?”

Anna rattles off a series of numbers and Inias punches them into the GPS. Castiel banks to point them westward, towards the enemy territory they will soon be flying straight into. His heart starts to pound and he feels truly awake like he hasn’t in days.

“Course set. ETA 05:57,” Inias reports, no longer slouching, instead sitting upright and eager.

“Godspeed. Over and out,” Anna says and then there’s an audible click as she exits their frequency.

“Ready Hopper?” Castiel asks, a grin tugging his lips for the first time all day.

“Hell yes,” Balthazar’s eager tone comes through the comm a bit too loud, but instead of scolding him as he would have only minutes previous, Castiel smiles.

“T minus one minute to enemy territory,” Inias announces.

Castiel flexes his fingers over the controls and tries to keep his grin under control. His heart thunders in his chest and his blood flows rapidly under his skin. This is it. This rush of adrenaline...

“T minus five… four… three… two… one.”

It’s what Castiel lives for.

“We are now officially in enemy territory.”

 

**October 3rd, 2007 - Dean**

 

Dean slips silently through the foliage with Jo and Ash hot on his tail. Another successful mission. Of course, they aren’t quite out of the woods, so to speak, just yet. They still have another half hour of hiking in front of them just to get the the border, and then another hour and a half to the pick up point after that. But Dean is confident, and they’ve got angels overheard which is more than they usually get so he marks it as another tally in the _Victory is Imminent_ column.

To make it even better, Dean is pretty sure it’s Cas up there making sure they make it out. Sure, he’s only ever actually met the guy once, but… let’s just say he left an impression on Dean. Jo calls him Dean’s “Man Crush”, but Jo can suck it.

Cas is more a… kindred spirit. Dean can relate, that’s all. Yeah so the guy is hot as hell, but that doesn’t mean Dean’s got a hard on for him. Well, okay… So maybe he does? But for all Dean knows Cas isn’t even interested in other dudes. Or maybe he likes to keep his sex life separate from his military life which, yeah, Dean can’t fault him there if that’s his deal.

Dean’s earpiece crackles in his ear, drawing him out of his head.

“SEAL Team Eight Wolverine, this is Viper. Angel Team Three Scout has been hit and has been forced to land behind enemy lines. Repeat, Angel’s are landing behind enemy lines.”

Dean’s heart kicks into overdrive in his chest. Cas is down. Well, assuming that’s Cas’s team up there (Dean’s 90% sure it is. He’s been keeping track the past few years). Either way, there’s a small team of PJs downed in enemy territory not five kilometers behind Dean. The rest of the PJs are back at base and it’ll be at least an hour before they’ll be able to get to the crash site. Surely, the tangos will get there quicker than that and if the angels are injured then that severely decreases their ability to hold out until help arrives.

Dean thinks through the options left to him quickly, but really his mind was made up the second he heard the report.

“Viper, this is Kirk. Request permission for myself, T, and Doc to retrieve fallen angels.”

Jo and Ash are at his side immediately upon hearing the request and Dean motions with his head for them to turn back. The request in all essence is a formality. Like hell Dean is going to leave those people stranded when he’s _right here_. Jo and Ash don’t question him and lead the way back to where they just came from. Viper comes back on after several long silent seconds and accepts Dean’s request and reads him the coordinates.

“L-T we will have air support waiting to pick you up on the border. Godspeed. And thank you.”

“We’ll get your angels home,” Dean replies. “Over and out.”

There’s a click in his ear and Dean waits a beat before continuing.

“Truman, you get all that?”

“Copy that brother,” Benny’s voice filters through, calm and steady as ever.

“Get the package back to base. We’ll see you Romanoff, and Tex in time for lunch,” Dean promises.

“I’m looking forward to it. Good luck out there.”

Dean doesn’t respond, choosing instead to focus on the new mission he just volunteered himself, Jo, and Ash for. There will likely be injuries, although hopefully no casualties. Either way, Dean needs to be prepared to have to haul another person the full hour to the border, not to mention all of the gear they’ll be wearing coupled with the gear _he’s_ already wearing. It’s not going to be a fun, nor simple, mission but it’s Dean’s favorite kind. There kind where he actually feels like he’s making a difference.

The hike to the crash site only takes 30 minutes. But it’s 30 minutes in blistering heat after already having hiked this far before hand and twice this far at the very start of their original mission. Luckily they have tree cover in the woodland area, but Dean took note of several steep hills that it’s going to be a bitch to haul someone up.

They arrive at the crash site and Dean immediately dispatches Ash to scout the perimeter, just in case. Jo and Dean quietly approach the lopsided copter.

“This is SEAL Team Eight Wolverine. Anybody in there?” Dean calls out, not too loudly.

“Yes! Help please!” A young and scared sounding voice calls from within.

Dean nods to Jo and they hustle to the chopper, they come around the side and are met with their first bout of bad news. A body. It’s that guy that yelled at Cas that day. Balthazar, Dean remembers. Jo goes to check his vitals, but Dean can see by the way the bullet tore apart the guy’s face, he’s not alive. Dean’s stomach twists painfully now that he knows this is Cas’s team and that Cas is going to have some hard news. Dean leaves Jo and heads for the cockpit.

There’s a young guy in the copilot seat, white as a sheet and wide eyed with textbook symptoms of shock, but otherwise he appears uninjured barring a large bruise forming on his forehead where he probably smashed into the wall.

In the pilot seat is Cas and he doesn’t look good. The pilot side of the aircraft looks like it struck a tree on it’s way down, causing the metal frame to crumple and pin Cas’s left leg. There’s a lot of blood, but Cas is awake and alert enough to be talking to the kid, so that’s a good sign.

“Knock, knock,” Dean announces his presence.

The kid almost snaps his neck he turns so quickly, but Cas blinks several times and then sluggishly turns until Dean is in his line of vision. His eyes are just as vibrant blue as Dean remembers, but they’re also clouded and unfocused. Not good. Cas blinks a few more times and then his gaze seems to sharpen.

“Dean,” Cas says.

Dean grins. He honestly wasn’t even sure that Cas had remembered his name from their brief interaction, let alone his face. But here they are in a wrecked helicopter in Iraq with Cas’s leg probably ruined forever and Cas recognized Dean within moments. It really shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

“Hey Princess,” Dean greets and carefully squats down next to Cas to examine his leg. “Looks like I was right.”

“What?” Cas asks, a familiar frown pulling his lips. His eyes are still dazed and unfocused and the skin framing them is drawn tight with pain. Dean doesn’t like it.

“Remember? I told you that next time I would get to be your white knight,” Dean explains, keeping his voice intentionally light while he looks over the leg. It’s not terrible. They only need to move the metal a few inches to get Cas clear, but prying the metal away is going to hurt like a bitch and then there’ll be nothing keeping the blood in. Not to mention they’re on a bit of a time limit. They really don’t have time to play doctor.

Jo enters the cockpit, her mouth shut in a grim line. A subtle shake of her head tells Dean all he needs to know before she heads over to check on the kid.

“Prince Charming,” Cas says out of nowhere.

“What?” Dean asks, snapping back into the conversation to find Cas staring directly into his eyes.

“You said… Prince Charming,” Cas tells him laboriously. A slow smile stretches over Dean’s face.

“So I did. I didn’t think you’d remember.”  
Dean starts looking around for anything to cover his hands with to keep them from getting cut to pieces by the jagged metal.

“I wouldn’t forget you,” Cas says like it’s nothing.

Dean’s heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t know what to say. He just knows that he needs to keep the conversation going. He needs Cas awake and alert.

“What do you remember most?” Dean asks and grabs a heat resistant blanket that slid out from its place under Cas’s seat and then pulls the first aid kit down off the wall rather than use his own.

“You were a pain in the ass,” Cas says without hesitation. It startles a laugh out of Dean.

“Wow. Thanks.”

Cas smiles, tight, but there.

“And you took on 12 armed men on your own without hesitation, but then locked up entirely over a simple helicopter flight.”

“There was nothing simple-,”

“You also cared very much for your team and showed admirable loyalty,” Castiel says over Dean with that little smile.

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that so he just clears his throat and waves a hand at Cas’s leg.

“We’ve gotta get you outta here man. This is gonna hurt. You ready?”

“I suppose,” Cas says with a sigh.

“I’ll count to three. One, two, three.”

Dean gives it all he’s got, shoving at the stiff metal. Cas bites back a groan, but it slips through and then Cas’s leg is free. He turns sideways in his chair and Dean lets the crushed metal spring back into its preferred state, this time without Cas’s leg as a doorstop. Dean doesn’t hesitate to drop the blanket and gets to work stopping the now gushing blood from escaping the wound in Cas’s leg.

It’s flowing too fast for just a pressure bandage so Dean cuts off a strip of the flame retardant blanket and ties it off just below Cas’s knee as a tunicate and then applies the bandage. He wraps it up and tapes it safely down.

“Balthazar’s dead. Isn’t he?” Castiel asks suddenly.

Dean falters in his wrapping at the question and looks up to Cas’s face, still clouded in pain, but of a different kind.

“I’m sorry man,” Dean says quietly and Castiel just nods his understanding.

“I was afraid so. They got in a lucky shot and with Balthazar down they were free to take out our engine.”

Dean squeezes Cas’s good knee for lack of anything worthwhile to say. Cas seems to appreciate it.

“He was an ass on a good day. Always in my business or, outside of work, trying to get me laid and just being irritating in general. But... he was my best friend.”

“We’ll get him home,” Dean promises. Cas shakes his head.

“We’re several kilometers inside enemy territory. It would be ill advised to slow us down more than I am already going to,” he says, gesturing to his bum leg.

“Well you ain’t ever rode with me so I’ll forgive the lack of faith this time, Cas, but for future reference, I don’t let little words like ‘dangerous’ or ‘ill advised’ slow my roll.”

Jo scoffs behind him.

“That’s because you’re a moron,” she informs him. “You two love birds ready to move?”

“You think you’re ready, Cas?” Dean asks, ignoring Jo’s teasing.

“I think I’ll have to be,” he replies. He reaches up to place a steadying hand on Dean’s shoulder and then heaves himself up into standing position. What little blood was left in his face drains away at the change in altitude.

“I’m okay,” he mutters even as he sways in place.

“Uh huh,” Dean responds, unconvinced. “C’mere, I’ll be your crutch.”

Cas frowns, but accepts the help, slinging his arm around Dean’s shoulder and limping towards the door. Dean tries to angle him so that he doesn’t see Balthazar where Jo laid him down in the grass just outside the helicopter off to their right, but Cas turns his head and his gaze latches onto his friend’s corpse like a magnet drew him there. He hesitates, taking in the destruction of Balthazar’s face and the unnatural stillness of his unbreathing body.

Dean expects Cas to maybe breakdown or become lethargic or… he doesn’t know. What he doesn’t expect is for Cas to straighten up and for a fire to light behind his eyes.

“We’re getting him home?” Cas asks.

“Yeah, Cas. We’re not leaving him here,” Dean assures him.

“Good. We need to get moving. The tangos can’t have been much farther out than you.”

“I hear you. Jo, you two ready?” Dean calls back just as Jo and the kid to hop out of the chopper behind them.

“We’re good to go. We even have a stretcher,” she says lifting the end she’s holding while the kid scrambles to accommodate the sudden change on the end he’s holding.

“Good. You two go ahead and load him up while I get ahold of Ash,” Dean orders.

Jo and the kid set the stretcher down next to Balthazar and the kid immediately goes even paler than he’d been before at the sight of the body. Luckily, Jo is able to talk him through rolling Balthazar onto the stretcher and getting him strapped on before the kid has to go heave in the bushes.

“Doc, how’s it lookin’ out there man?” Dean says into his headpiece.

“Partly cloudy with a 30% chance of rain,” Ash answers back without missing a beat.

“How much time do we have?” Dean asks, knowing that Ash isn’t actually talking about the weather.

“Five minutes?” Ash guestimates. “Give or take. You need me to buy us some more?”

“Nah, not yet. We’re ready to roll out. Let’s see if we can lose ‘em.”

“Aye, aye Captain. I’ll meet up with you back on the trail.”

“Wrong kind of captain, Doctor,” Dean scoffs.

“My bad,” Ash responds, not sounding sorry in the least. Dean rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the situation at hand.

“Let’s get going. We’ve got five minutes until company arrives. And not the kind you ask over for tea.”

“You had your medic scout the area?” Cas asks as they limp along back the way Dean and his team came in while Jo and the kid follow along behind them with the stretcher.

“Medic? Oh no he’s not that kind of doctor,” Dean chuckles. “Actually, he’s not a doctor at all. His full callsign is Doctor Badass, but no one likes to actually call him that so we just call him Doc. He’s our explosives expert/technology guru/conspiracy theorist.”

“That’s a lot of roles for one person,” Cas says, although his voice sounds faint. Like he needs to concentrate more one moving his feet than the conversation. They don’t dare slow down their pace though, not with tangos so close on their tail. Dean tries to keep Cas distracted from the excruciating amount of pain he’s in by going into the back stories on all of their callsigns.

They call Jo, their scout, T. It’s short for twinkle toes, because she can sneak up on anybody, even their old drill sergeant who was a paranoid old bastard. And Benny, their second in command and machine gunnist/medic, is Truman because during training he kept quoting that damn quote about “the buck stops here”. Then there’s Meg, or Romanoff a jack of all trades, because she’s damn lethal and you don’t know it until it’s too late. And lastly Garth, or Tex, their sniper. Tex is a play off Texas Ranger, not because of Garth’s sharpshooting skills (although they are surprisingly spectacular), but because of a rather unfortunate costume choice at a party… Not a costume party. Just a regular party.

He’s only interrupted once and it’s only by a click over his headset right before Ash joins up with them and tells them the tangos arrived at the crash sight and were looking for their trail when he snuck off to meet back up. They make good time the whole half hour it takes Dean to go through all of the codenames and Castiel takes a moment to explain his own callsign to Dean and Dean promises to make him watch the Constantine TV show sometime because not knowing the story behind your own callsign is just sad.

Neither of them mention that Cas will probably never get to use his callsign again after today. Cas goes quiet after that. Maybe because he’s thinking about the end of his career, or maybe because he’s thinking about Balthazar again after bringing up how he was to one to bestow Castiel’s name upon him.

They’re 20 minutes from the border when Cas starts tripping every other step. He just can’t seem to get his good leg high enough to pass over the random knots and bumps of loose grass and dirt.

“”m sorry,” Cas mumbles, his words slurring slightly as his head droops onto Dean’s shoulder and stays there.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, buddy,” Dean replies automatically as he mentally calculates how much distance they still need to cover versus how close Ash said the tangos were last time he ducked back to check on them.

“I’m gonna carry you, okay?” Dean decides.

“Okay.”

The easy agreement worries Dean more than any amount of tripping ever could and he mentally cuts down their travel time by three minutes. Dean carefully maneuvers Cas around until he can scoop him up into a fireman’s carry; Cas hangs down Dean’s back while Dean carefully wraps his arm around the backs of Cas’s legs, trying not to upset his injured one. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to stop the hiss of pain from escaping Cas.

“Sorry,” Dean apologizes immediately.

“Just hurry,” Cas orders, no doubt already wishing he was upright again.

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice and hurries off at a much faster clip than before while Jo and Ash struggle to keep up as they carry Balthazar behind him, giving the kid, Inias, Dean’s learned, a much needed break. After a good ten minutes Dean has Inias switch with Jo so she can sneak back to check how close the tangos are and see how much time they’ll have to load and leave, if any time at all.

She’s back five minutes later.

“Can we run?” is the first thing she says. Dean curses under his breath.

“Distraction time?” Ash counters.

Dean nods. “Make it quick. We lift off as soon as you get back.”

“Got it Cap.”

Ash and Jo quickly trade places and then Ash slips off into the foliage, already rummaging through his pack of various explosives for the best choice. Dean reaches awkwardly around Cas until he can get to his long range radio, apologizing as he does so. He uses his teeth to turn the dial to turn it on and then holds down the talk button.

“Enterprise this is Captain Kirk, do you read me?”

There is a few seconds of delay and then, “I read you, Kirk. This is Viper. What’s your status? Over.”

“En route to pick up. ETA ten minutes. Tangos are on our tail so it’s gonna be tight. Over.”

“What about my team? Over.” Viper insists and Dean hesitates. He hadn’t realized that the angels were part of Viper’s team. She’s probably their leader considering they only needed half a team to man the helicopter and she could easily say behind and keep an eye on the mission by being their contact. Suddenly Dean feels really shitty for the news she’s about to get over radio.

“We’ve got one man down and another injured. Over,” Dean confesses.

There’s a pause and then, “Who?”

Dean frowns.

“Cas I need to know your callsigns,” he says, realizing he only knows Cas’s. He waits and there’s no response. “Cas?”

“He’s lost consciousness,” Jo says behind him. Dean curses.

“I’m Flounder and Balthazar is… was Hopper,” Inias tells him quietly.

“You guys got a thing for Disney characters?” Dean asks gruffly.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” Dean mumbles. He’s left Viper hanging long enough. “Hopper is down. We’re bringing him home. Constantine is injured and Flounder is showing typical symptoms of shock, but has been holding up pretty well all considering. Over.”

There’s nothing from the radio for long enough that Dean starts to wonder if they’ve lost the signal. But then there’s a crackle and Viper comes through once again.

“How bad is Constantine’s injury? Over.”

Dean purses his lips and his actually glad that Cas is unconscious and doesn’t have to hear him say this.

“It’s definitely not good. He’s gonna need medical attention as soon as we get back and… I’m not sure if they’ll be able to save his leg.” Dean hesitates for a drawn out moment, unsure if he should add anything else, like about how he’s 90% sure that Cas’ll never jump out of an aircraft again. In the end he decides to keep that to himself and finishes, “Over.”

Dean is ready for the drawn out silence this time, but instead Viper replies almost immediately, her tone clipped and clinical in a way that Dean is sure is a tactic she's using to try and distance herself for the time being.

“Thank you, Kirk. The pick up team is awaiting your arrival at the border. Over and out.”

Dean sighs and uses his teeth again to turn the nodule back to off and then contorts his arm awkwardly until the radio clips back onto his belt. A moment later an explosion rents the air and has the ground trembling under their feet and leaves dropping from the trees over their heads.

“That’s our signal to hurry the fuck up. Can you two run?” Dean asks over his shoulder.

“We’ll keep up. Just go,” Jo orders. “Ready Inias?”

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice and takes off, only slowing to adjust Cas so his head doesn’t flop around so much and then picking up the pace once more. In a matter of minutes he can hear the comforting whopwhopwhop of the helicopter blades and another minute more has him out of the tree cover and in the middle of a windstorm. The pilot must see him because a moment later the copter starts to drop towards the ground smoothly.

Before it’s even touched down Dean is hustling towards it, Jo and Inias directly behind him. A soldier, a big black burly dude, jumps out and rushes to help Dean with Cas, laying him out on a stretcher that they had ready for him. They strap Cas in and slide him into the chopper and then Dean turns and helps Jo get Balthazar in while Inias climbs up back into the cockpit on shaking legs. Even though he’s not a part of Dean’s team Dean feels a wave of pride swell through him at Inias getting right back on the horse after such a traumatic incident.

“Are we ready to lift off?” the burly soldier barks over the noise of the chopper.

Dean shakes his head.

“We’ve got one more. He’ll be here any second.” He better fucking be anyway. Dean ignores the stinkeye that the soldier shoots at him before turning and checking over Cas and turns to face out the doorway. It doesn’t take long for Ash to burst out of the treeline shouting “Go, go, go!” at the tops of his lungs.

“Let’s go!” Dean shouts up to the cockpit.

The helicopter starts to lift off the ground, but Dean stands in the open doorway until Ash makes it. Dean reaches out a hand and Ash clamps his hand on Dean’s forearm so Dean can haul him in. They manage to slide the door shut just as the first of the tangos swarm out of the treeline like angry hornets.

“Up, up, up!” Dean bellows as bullets start pinging off the underside of the aircraft. The last thing they need is two downed choppers in one day. The pilot, whether he hears Dean or not, pulls them up and away and within moments the sound of bullets striking metal goes away.

“Good one, man,” Dean says, slapping Ash on the back.

“Aww it wasn’t nothin’,” Ash responds with a shrug, though he looks pleased.

“How’re your arms Jo?” Dean asks the blonde currently collapsed in a seat rubbing at one of her shoulders.

“What arms?” she bites back. “I’m pretty sure they fell off half an hour ago and we left them in the woods for the bears.”

Dean chuckles.

“Make sure you ice those when we get back. You were a real trooper today.”

“Gee, thanks dad,” Jo grumbles, but a bit less petulantly than the moment previous.

Dean considers venturing into the cockpit for a moment to check on Inias. He feels kinda responsible for the guy after all, but then Cas moans and the thought vaporizes on the spot. Dean hurries over to his side, once again ignoring the dirty look the soldier shoots at him from Cas’s other side, and drops down onto his knees.

“Hey buddy, how you doin’?” Dean asks as Cas’s eyes blink open slowly and he looks around in confusion.

“Ugh,” is all Cas says eliciting a chuckle from Dean.

“Well good news. We made it to the helicopter. Bad news, they’re making us ride on the inside this time. Sorry man, I know how you love to live on the edge.”

Cas grins a dopey little grin that is definitely thanks to the morphine shot that the soldier surely gave him as soon as they got on board, but Dean commits it to memory anyway.

“‘s a shame,” he manages to slur.

“A damn shame,” Dean agrees.

“Thought you didn’t like flying,” Castiel responds, slowly carefully enunciating each word.

“I _hate_ flying,” Dean agrees emphatically.

“Then I s’ppose i’snot a damn shame t’you,” Cas tells him with a lazy smile.

“Alright you got me,” Dean admits. “I’m pleased as punch to be inside the flying tin can of doom this time.”

Cas chuckles again and then it fades away leaving him looking solemn.

“Balthazar’s dead,” he says like he’s tasting the words on his tongue. The look on his face tells of how little he cares for it. Dean sobers.

“Yeah, he is. I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean tells him gently. Cas just nods, staring up at the ceiling rather than at Dean.

“And I… my career is over.”

“Probably,” Dean agrees, never one to blatantly lie about something so important.

Cas nods, a frown marring his face as he falls into deep thought.

“But hey, it’s not all bad,” Dean tells him, biting his lip because he knows something stupidly cheesy is about to come out of his mouth.

“It’s not?” Cas asks quietly, turning his big blue eyes to look up at Dean and oh yeah, Dean is going to say something stupid.

“No, well, you got me didn’t you?” Dean feels like an idiot as soon as the words leave his mouth. His face heats up and oh God that was such a dumb thing to say. What was he thinking? “I mean, I’m not trying to replace Balthazar or anything, not that I ever could. I just meant-,”

A cool hand against his cheek draws him out of his self depreciating spiral and Dean looks down again to find Cas’s gaze trained on his face and a small smile on his lips.

“Thank you, Dean. That means a lot to me,” Cas tells him.

“Oh. Well, okay then,” Dean replies, completely wrongfooted by the entire situation.

Jo snorts somewhere behind Dean.

“You two are disgusting. Get a room,” she heckles.

“Stuff it, Jo,” Dean calls back without turning.

“I never knew you were such a romantic, Dean-o,” Ash adds in.

“Oh my God,” Dean laments to the ceiling. “Just ignore them,” he adds to Cas. “They’re idiots.”

“Speaking of idiots,” Jo chirps. “One time when Dean was a wee little chubby cheeked eight year old-,”

Dean jumps to his feet and whirls around on his childhood friend.

“Jo, I swear to God, if this is the story I think it is I am going to bodily chuck you out of the helicopter,” Dean warns sternly. Jo snorts.

“You wouldn’t dare. You’re too afraid of my mom.”

Dean opens his mouth again to argue, but then snaps it shut again.

“Point,” he agrees. “But that’s just common sense. Everyone in their right mind is afraid of Ellen.”

“Hear, hear!” Ash agrees.

“The point still stands,” Jo says. “Shall I continue my story then?” she asks with a wide toothy grin.

“Only if I get to tell the one about the floss and the-,”

“Oh please. There’s no one here that I care about saving face in front of,” Jo interrupts.

“I’ll tell Hannah,” Dean says with a devilish smirk. Jo narrows her eyes.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Then you keep your yap shut in front of Cas. If I go down, you go down with me,” Dean threatens.

“Fine,” Jo sulks.

“Good,” Dean retorts and then turns back to sit cross legged beside Cas, slightly numb at the knowledge that he went head to head against Jo and actually kind of won. That hardly ever happens.

“So you and Jo are childhood friends?” Cas asks, looking highly amused, judging by the way the skin beside his eyes is crinkled.

“Unfortunately,” Dean sighs and then something hits him in the back of his head. “Ow! She’s so violent.”

Cas chuckles and his eyelids start to drift closed.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” he asks.

Dean doesn’t even have to think about it.

“Of course.”


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're ready for the fluff half. Brace yourself.

 

**Present Day: June 7th 2015 - Castiel**

Castiel rolls out of bed at seven o’clock on the dot. He’s supposed to be excited today. He was supposed to spend the night unable to sleep because he couldn’t wait for today to get here. Instead he feels like he’s either going to puke or faint. He’s going to meet Sam at the airport with the Impala, they’re going to get some coffee together, and then… Well, then what’s _supposed_ to happen is Dean’s flight comes in and Dean meets them at the bottom of the escalators.

Castiel attaches his prosthetic and dresses for the day in a haze. He doesn’t think he slept at all last night. Instead he laid there trying to stop himself from imagining the worst case scenario. Logically, he knows what he’s walking himself and Sam into. But he can’t, he just can’t accept what his gut is telling him. He hesitates at his nightstand and then grabs the small box sitting there. He’d rather have it than not have it.

He’s out the door in 20 minutes. The Impala is kept in a garage unit under lock and key so it can be kept safe from vandalism and bad weather while Dean is away. Castiel lifts the door and carefully removes the tarp that keeps Baby from getting dusty. Dean told Castiel that he can drive her whenever he wants, but Castiel would feel terrible if something happened to her while he was behind the wheel, so he only takes her out for those highway drives that Dean insists upon and Castiel has come to greatly enjoy.

Castiel swallows thickly as he slides a hand over the hood. What’s going to happen to Baby? Sam will probably get her. Considering Castiel is about to let Sam walk into that airport expecting his brother to be there Sam will probably never want to see Castiel again. That means this is his last ride with Baby, the place he always feels closest to Dean; his car, his cassettes, and that forever permeating scent of leather and saltwater.

Castiel slides into the driver seat and the Impala rumbles to life. The familiar feel of her engine calms him in the way nothing else has. Castiel carefully eases the Impala out of the narrow garage and then puts her in park so he can jog over to pull the garage closed again. He’s always nervous leaving her running while he’s not in there, just in case someone tries to steal her. He would definitely win that fight, but he’s afraid he may kill them if they try and take Baby away from Dean.

Or, well, Sam.

 

**~*~**

Castiel sits quietly with his coffee warming his hands, but he can’t bring himself to drink it. He’s sure if anything touches his stomach he’s going to barf.

“Euck. This coffee is terrible,” Sam complains after a tentative sip from his own cup. “You look awful dude. Are you okay?”

Castiel dredges up what could be considered a half smile in certain lighting and shrugs.

“I didn’t sleep well,” he says quietly, leaving off the reason why. Sam will see soon enough. And then he’ll take his grief and anger out on Castiel for not telling him and then Castiel will be well and truly alone. And he’ll deserve it too.

Sam hums knowingly. “Yeah, I’m pretty excited too. I’m ready for him to be home for good, you know?”

Castiel’s eyes well up and he quickly looks down at his drink to cover the reaction to Sam’s innocent words. One way or another Dean really will be home for good.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam says soothingly across from him. The kind words only make Castiel feel worse. He is truly going to miss Sam’s friendship. “Cas, whatever’s got you acting all weird, it’s going to be fine, okay? Dean’ll be here soon and he’s going to be ecstatic to see you. Just like always. You’ll see.”

Castiel latches onto Sam’s words like a lifeline. Sam is incredibly intelligent and he’s rarely wrong. And really it doesn’t take much to send Castiel right back into the default state of denial that’s been the only thing getting him through these past few weeks. That and keeping his phone firmly off on the days he could get away with it.

Castiel shifts uncomfortably under Sam’s concerned stare and the movement reminds him of the box sitting like a hot branding iron against his thigh. He pulls it out and hesitates before sliding it across the table to Sam.

“Why Cas, I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” Sam teases with a smirk.

Castiel levels an unimpressed look at the smiling man.

“Just hold onto it for me,” Cas says. “Please,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Sure,” Sam agrees easily as he slips it into his jacket pocket. “But I thought you were going to wait until later.”

“That’s the plan. I just wanted to have it with me… just in case.”

Sam nods knowingly, although he couldn’t possibly know Castiel’s true thoughts.

“We should head over there. They should have landed by now,” Sam says, glancing at his watch. Castiel feels faint. He throws away his untouched coffee and follows after Sam in a fog. He feels oddly light, like he’s not really here and he’s watching this all happen to someone else. He _wishes_ this were happening to someone else. He can’t even bring himself to feel guilty for the selfish thought. He just really wishes this wasn’t happening. Not to him. Not Dean.

It’s only minutes later that the soldiers start appearing on the escalator. Cas recognizes Dean’s team members. Meg steps off the escalator first, making a beeline for a brown haired girl that Castiel knows to be her sister Ruby. They slap each other’s shoulders and immediately leave for baggage claim with large smiles moving around whispered words. Next is a woman named Dorothy who replaced Garth some years ago after the man got married and started having children. Dorothy is bombarded by a red blur, her girlfriend Charlie whom Castiel spends much of his time with at the military spouse meetings. She reminds him of Dean.

Then there’s Jo and Ash who jog over to greet Ellen. Jo is the main reason Dean hasn’t retired before now. He made Ellen a promise to look out for her daughter and he’s held that up for the past fifteen years. Now that Jo is finally ready to retire from Active status, Dean can as well. The Harvelles and Ash don’t loiter, probably because they’re in charge of supplying food for the family picnic this afternoon and need to prepare. Castiel avoids looking at them. If he sees a single look of pity or confusion from them about why he and Sam are here he may just lose it in the middle of the airport.

The escalator soon stands empty of camouflage and Castiel’s breaths start coming in short gasps. Dean’s not coming. He’s really not coming. Oh God. He knew… he knew that this was most likely what would happen, but that doesn’t stop him from being absolutely crushed as the last little flicker of hope that he’d kept close and well protected for these past weeks flickers out and dies. Oh God.

“Cas, you’re kind of freaking me out,” Sam says beside him. Sam still doesn’t know. He hasn’t figured it out. Castiel can’t tell him. He can’t be the one to shatter Sam’s entire world.

“Look man, Dean’s coming okay? He probably got held up helping someone or something. It’s happened before.”

Castiel shakes his head and has to work his throat before the words he needs to say will come out.

“Sam, you don’t understand,” Castiel tries to growl, but it comes out faint and scared and hardly more than a whisper.

“ _What_ don’t I understand, Castiel?” Sam asks, suddenly sharp and harsh as he draws himself up to his full intimidating height. Castiel tries to swallow but his throat is dry and if he opens his mouth he’s sure he’s going to vomit. Then Sam’s attention flicks back to the escalator as two more soldiers appear. Sam’s shoulders relax and a grin spreads over his face, because it’s Dean and Benny, Dean’s best friend and fellow soldier.

Dean’s still in his fatigues and combat boots. His face lights up when he sees Castiel and Sam and he hurries down the moving steps, leaving Benny to find his wife. The thin ropes that have been holding Castiel together the past few weeks snap spectacularly at the sight of Dean standing there, whole and unharmed and smiling. He rushes forward and something on his face catches Dean’s attention because his smile immediately falters.

“Cas, what-?”

Castiel slams into Dean hard enough to make him stumble back a step, but Dean wraps his arms around him just how he needs him to while Castiel buries his face in Dean’s shoulder. The fabric rapidly advances past damp and well into wet as great quaking sobs shake free from Castiel’s chest and his trembling hands fist into the back of Dean’s uniform.

“I guess you missed me?” Dean says, exchanging a bewildered look with Sam over Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel laughs humorlessly, but it comes out an overloud sob. Dean’s arms immediately tighten around him as he throws a look of panicked concern back at Sam.

“Baby what’s wrong?” Dean murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Castiel’s hair.

Castiel sucks in a deep sniff and tries to hold in the tears washing down his cheeks, but it’s no use. He pulls back from Dean just far enough to dig his phone out of his pocket and presses it into Dean’s hand before stepping back into Dean’s arms. Dean keeps one arm around Castiel’s back, holding him tight and lifts the phone up in front of his face with the other. He frowns at it.

Castiel’s voice shakes as he struggles to explain.

“The calls. I… I couldn’t answer them. I thought… I thought it was…”

Castiel knows what Dean will see when he opens Castiel’s call history. Other than a call from Sam this morning there’s only going to be numerous missed calls from the same number, lit up in red text. Dean goes still against Castiel and Castiel knows that he’s connected the dots.

“Oh baby. Cas...” Dean whispers planting another kiss to Castiel’s forehead. He turns back to glaring at the small back lit screen. “Did they call you _everyday_?” he asks, anger making the words hard. Castiel nods into his shoulder.

“For the past two weeks,” Castiel elaborates.

“Shit, Cas.”

Dean drops the phone into his pant pocket and then wraps both arms around Castiel, pulling him closer. Castiel nuzzles his face into the side of Dean’s neck and breathes him in. He’s shaking. It’s been just over a year since he saw Dean last. Far too long. The familiar scent soothes away the rougher edges of Castiel’s panic and soon his knees no longer shake and the nausea fades. The tremors in his hands take longer to fade, but eventually they do too.

Dean is alive. Dean is home. Everything is going to be okay. It’s one thing to know this to be fact, but another entirely to truly _feel_ it.

“Hey, uh. Hey, Cas?” Dean sounds nervous and it’s a strange enough happenstance that Castiel lifts his head and takes a half step back to look at Dean properly.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asks, using the back of his forearm to scrub tears from his cheeks. He sniffs hard and hopes he doesn’t look too pathetic.

Dean’s face softens and some of his inexplicable nervous energy fades.

“I’m going to try something,” Dean says softly. He uses the pads of his thumbs to gently wipe away the missed moisture under either of Castiel’s eyes and then plants one more kiss to his forehead before turning to Benny.

“Benny. Do you have it?” Dean calls across the room.

Benny rolls his eyes mid conversation with his wife.

“I told you he wouldn’t be able to wait,” he says to Andrea. “Aren’t you glad I had you bring it?” but he shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out something that stays easily invisible in his large fist.

“You were right.” Andrea agrees and does nothing to hide her smile; she doesn’t even look disappointed about being wrong.

“Yeah, yeah. Gimme.” Dean makes grabby hands at whatever it is Benny is holding.

“Good luck brother. Not that you need it,” he adds with a wink to Castiel and tosses a small black something for Dean to catch. Castiel frowns after Benny as he walks off with his wife, who turns and flashes a thumbs up over her shoulder accompanied by a large grin.

Castiel turns back to Dean, a question burning his lips, but it becomes unnecessary when he sees Dean, not standing in front of him as he was before, but with one knee pressed to the shitty threadbare airport carpet and a small black box held aloft before him in shaking hands.

Castiel’s jaw drops. His heart stutters in his chest and then stops entirely and his brain follows suit. This can’t be happening. He vaguely hears Sam behind him blaspheming.

“Okay, so. This wasn’t the plan, but you could use some cheering up so… At least I hope this cheers you up. At any rate it’s a distraction, right?” Dean’s voice pitches and he clears his throat before going back to looking up at Castiel with green eyes wide and earnest and full of fear and hope in equal measure.

“I, uh… I wrote a speech but it’s in my bag. I’ll do my best to get it right though,” Dean pauses again to take a deep fortifying breath. It’s the mention of the speech that finally snaps Castiel out of his state of shock.

“Oh you _asshole_.”

Sam cackles in the background, but other than the confused and slightly hurt glance Dean shoots towards him they both ignore him.

“What?” Dean asks. His hands sag until they hit his knee and his eyebrows pinch as his lips curl into a frown. He looks like a chastised puppy.

“No,” Castiel says forcefully, trying his very best not to let the wounded puppy dog look get the better of him. “ _No_. You don’t _get_ to have a speech. _I_ have a speech. Sam? Sam! Shut up and give it to me.”

Sam huffs a bit, but shoves his hand into his jacket pocket and hands Castiel a ring box eerily similar to the one in Dean’s hand, grinning and giggling to himself all the while.

“Are you serious?” Dean asks, eyes glued to the box.

“Deadly,” Castiel says, face hard as he drops to one knee to match Dean.

“No no no. You’re fucking it all up,” Dean whines.

“ _I’m_ fucking it up?” Cas retorts. “I’ve been planning this for _months_. I’m supposed to be asking you this afternoon at your family picnic after you’ve eaten your weight in pie. I _planned_ this.”

“I planned too! I was going to ask tonight after the fireworks in the park!” Dean argues.

“See! _See_!” Cas shouts, gesturing with his free hand harshly. “ _You’re_ fucking it up. If you’d stuck to the plan I would have asked first!”

Dean’s mouth drops open with a slick suction. In the ensuing silence they both realize that Sam is laughing his ass off.

“ _Shut up, Sam!_ ” they yell in unison.

Sam manages to control himself long enough to offer, “Why don’t you just both do it at the same time.”

“Fine,” they agree in bitter harmony. They each crack open their ring boxes and therein lie… identical rings.

“You stole my ring!” Dean exclaims.

“I did no such thing!” Castiel retorts over Sam’s renewed howls of laughter.

“You did too! Look at that!” Dean says, voice high as he waves his hand over the ring still in it’s box in Castiel’s hand.

“Dean, you’re being ridiculous,” Castiel snaps testily. “Now fucking propose or shut the hell up so I can.”

Dean opens his mouth and then shuts it again as a slow smile stretches his lips.

“What?” Castiel bites out.

“I love you,” Dean says.

The angry jaunt of Castiel’s shoulders softens and a reluctant smile tugs the corner of his lips.

“I love you, too.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you back. So much.” Castiel’s voice cracks.

“Will you marry me?” Dean asks, a smile already dimpling his cheeks. Of course, he already knows the answer.

“I’ll have to think about it,” Castiel replies with a cocky smirk.

“You shithead. C’mere.”

Castiel allows himself to be pulled forward into the kiss, but keeps it short if somewhat lingering.

“As much and I want to lay you out on the floor and fuck you senseless, my knee is killing me,” Castiel explains in response to Dean’s pout.

“Oh thank God. Mine too,” Dean says in a rush. Castiel snorts and they both climb stiffly to their feet like the old men they are.

“Your masculinity is as fragile as ever I see,” Castiel taunts, rubbing at the spot where his knee ends and his prosthetic begins.

“Bite me.”

Castiel’s eyes rake up and down Dean’s uniform clad body lecherously.

“Where and how hard?”

He’s rewarded by Dean’s cheeks pinkening ever so slightly.

“You two are disgusting.”

“Shut up, Sam,” they tell him without breaking eye contact with each other.

“Can I have my ring now?” Castiel asks, hand outstretched and waiting.

“What? Hell no! You didn’t even say yes!” Dean says, stuffing the ring box into his pocket.

“You’re being a child,” Castiel says, moving to snatch the box out of Dean’s pocket.

“Am not!” Dean says, dodging away.

“Are too,” Castiel growls, swiping at the back of Dean’s shirt as he tries to dodge around him and is rewarded with a fistful of fabric.

“Am not!”

Dean twists out of Castiel’s grip and then takes off in a sprint down the corridor towards baggage claim.

“Are too!” Castiel shouts and gives chase, his slight limp doing nothing to slow him down.

 

**~*~**

“Welcome home, Dean! Great getting to see you again for the first time _in a whole year_!” Sam shouts at their backs.

“ _Shut up, Sam!_ ” they chorus back.

Sam grins and shakes his head, still laughing lightly to himself. He’s unbelievably happy for both his brother and Castiel, but sometimes it’s best to just leave them to do their own thing. Especially since, more often than not, they end up naked and don’t particularly care how long it takes for you to get your shoes on and collect your laptop and get out the door.

Sam starts to follow after them. Leisurely. Probably with multiple stops and detours. Then he catches a glimpse of a woman holding a smartphone and grinning.

“Hey. You didn’t happen to catch any of that did you?” Sam asks, gesturing at her phone.

The girl looks up from her phone and shakes curly blonde hair out of her face and smirks. Damn she’s pretty.

“I _may_ have got the whole thing, but my memory might need a bit of a jog,” she says slowly, a mischievous glint sparking in her hazel eyes.

Sam narrows his eyes and purses his lips in false thought, all the while fighting a grin. Two seconds in and he already likes this girl.

“Would a coffee jog it for you, maybe?” Sam asks letting the smile play his lips.

The woman tilts her head and makes a show of thinking it over.

“It could work,” she says slowly. “But not from here. The coffee here sucks.”

“Agreed. It’s a date then?” Sam can’t help the lilt at the end of the sentence turning it into a question. But the girl smiles wide and nods.

“It’s a date. My name’s Jess,” she adds and sticks out a hand. Sam grasps it in his own and they shake.

“Sam,” he offers.

Jess snorts.

“I heard actually. How many times did they yell at you? Four? Five?”

Sam scoffs.

“It was only like, three. But what they don’t know, and what made it extra hilarious, was that Benny and I…” Sam pauses for a moment as he thinks up the word he wishes to use, “ _guided_ them into picking out the same rings on purpose,” he confesses smugly.

Jess laughs, tinkling and light.

“And I suppose you gave them the idea to propose on the same day, too,” she says.

“It’s entirely plausible,” Sam admits with no small amount of pride.

Jess laughs again. “Oh I think I like you.”

 

**~*~**

Sunlight presses against the backs of Castiel’s eyelids, pleasantly warm and washing the ether of his mind in red. Not the red that Castiel is so familiar with; the red of war and blood and anger and rebellion. A new red. The red of summer, strawberries, Kool Aid stained upper lips, and the glow of charcoal beneath slowly browning hamburger patties. A red that he didn’t discover until this family found him and took him in as one of their own. A family that actually wants him, just as he is.

“Cas! Cornhole. Let’s go.”

Castiel grunts, but otherwise doesn’t so much as twitch from where he’s sprawled out on his back atop a timeworn quilt. Hopefully his clear lack of interest in the game will be enough for Dean to leave Castiel in peace. He’d love nothing more than to drift lazily about in his thoughts, just on the edge of sleep as he is. Were Castiel more awake and thinking clearly he would realize what a silly and unrealistic hope it is.

“Caaas, I need you,” Dean weedles, suddenly much closer, close enough for his breath to ghost over Castiel’s face. Castiel crinkles his nose and wriggles his face away from the onslaught.

“Onions,” he mumbles almost unintelligibly, his tongue sticking unpleasantly to the roof of his mouth before forming the word.

“You love it,” Dean declares much too loudly.

“No.”

“Oh yeah?”

And then Castiel suddenly finds himself pinned to the ground, Dean’s hands holding down Castiel’s forearms where they’re crossed behind his head and Dean’s legs hooked over Castiel’s calves. Castiel squirms, but he’s stuck. Then Dean starts exhaling obnoxiously all over Castiel’s face.

“Hhhhhhhhhaaaa!”

“Dean!” Castiel sputters, twisting and straining for freedom, but to no avail. “You’re disgusting! Get off!”

“Never!” Dean shouts and then he’s pressing sweet kisses along Castiel’s cheekbones, his forehead, and around and down to his ears, across the stubble on his jaw, and finally to the corner of his mouth. Castiel surges upward then and fits their lips together properly. He releases a sigh through his nose as Dean’s warmth seeps into him through the lazy kiss.

“Gross! Get a room!” Jo’s voice carries from some distance away followed by several whistles and much laughter as everyone’s attention is drawn to them. Dean shifts his weight without breaking their kiss and Castiel assumes that Jo is now receiving the bird, but doesn’t bother opening his eyes to check.

Dean pulls back first and their lips stick before parting. Castiel opens his eyes and has to squint blindly into the harsh summer sun until Dean wordlessly shifts to the right to cast Castiel’s face into shadow.

“Sorry about them,” Dean says with a sheepish smile like Castiel hasn’t been subjected to Dean’s family for the past seven years. “They’re just…”

“I love them, Dean,” Castiel interrupts as he is want to do when Dean begins down one of his self doubting spirals. Dean blinks once and then again before smiling more genuinely.

“Oh. Well uh, they love you too. I mean-,”

“I know,” Castiel says, tilting his head a little as he continues to watch Dean’s eyes. “And they love you and you love them. Very much.”

Dean looks away biting his lip.

“Yeah, well…”

“And I love you,” Castiel continues, his face open and earnest, willing Dean to look and see that it’s the truth. Dean does. He looks back and their gazes lock. The anxiety behind Dean’s eyes eases away and his gaze softens.

“Okay,” Dean says quietly.

“I proposed this morning for a reason, Dean,” Castiel reminds him gently and strokes the backs of his fingers down the rough five o’clock shadow forming along Dean’s jaw. Dean leans into the touch, letting his eyes fall shut for just a moment before refocusing on Castiel.

“I know. I just…”

“I know, Dean,” Castiel smiles.

“You’re too good for me,” Dean complains.

Castiel’s smile widens. “I know that, too,” he says and Dean roll his eyes. “And you, me.”

Dean shakes his head a fraction, but says nothing. It’s progress.

“Also your breath is terrible. I’m cutting you off from the onions for the rest of the day,” Castiel says knowing full well he’ll let Dean do whatever he wants.

“You didn’t seem to mind them much a minute ago when I was breathing the fumes down your throat,” Dean mocks and then wrestles himself to his feet before offering a hand to Castiel. Castiel only hesitates a second before accepting, the old adage, _I do not require assistance_ , springing to mind automatically before he can shove it away. It’s progress.

“There’s a considerable difference between kissing and breathing all over my face, Dean,” Castiel points out as he allows Dean to pull him to his feet and then adjusts his shorts where they caught on his prosthetic.

“You’ll learn to love my onion breath,” Dean says dismissively. “We’ve got the rest of our lives after all.”

Castiel buries the smile that begs to surface at the simple phrase. _The rest of our lives_.

“Don’t hold your breath. Or, actually…”

Dean throws his head back and laughs and Castiel releases his hold on his smile. An instant later the familiar beginning chords of _Smoke on the Water_ sound and the smile freezes half formed on Castiel’s lips and a sharp spike of fear stabs into Castiel’s belly.

“Hey, hey. Cas, I’m right here. Baby, I’m _fine_. They’re not calling about me.”

Castiel blinks and there’s Dean, right in front of him with his hands holding tight to Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel releases the breath that caught in his chest and digs his phone out of his pocket with shaking hands. It’s that number again. The same one as always, always at the same time of day.

“I’ll answer it,” Dean says, more of an order than an offer as he holds his hand out for the ringing device . Castiel gladly passes it over with only the vague thought that he hopes Dean goes easy on whoever is on the other end.

“Hello,” Dean barks into the speaker and Castiel winces. There’s a pause on the other end of the line and then Castiel can faintly hear a very distant, “Winchester?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?” Dean demands. There’s a pause as the other person speaks too quietly for Castiel to make out his words, but Dean fills in the blanks.

“Michael?! What the hell do _you_ want? Why do you keep calling?” Dean grows harsher, scowling into the distance like if he glares hard enough Michael will feel it all the way wherever his is. Castiel just stands there, stunned. Why would Michael be calling him? And so incessantly at that. The last time Castiel spoke to his older brother was when Castiel lost his leg and was forced to retire from the Air Force. Considering Michael was his Commanding Officer at the time, they didn’t exactly have a choice at that. Michael didn’t even come visit Castiel in the hospital. They worked out all of Castiel’s paperwork via two phone calls and several emails.

“Cas, he wants to talk to you.”

Dean is speaking to him now, his hand firmly covering the speaker of the phone and the expression on his face tells Castiel that he would only need to say the word and Dean will gladly tell Michael exactly where he can go and Castiel will never need speak with his brother again. It’s a tempting thought.

Castiel motions for Dean to hand him the phone.

“What Michael?” Castiel asks. He sounds tired.

“Castiel, it’s good to hear from you. Less good to hear you’re still hanging around that Winchester riffraff. Is he screening your calls for you now?”

Castiel closes his eyes and prays to his absent God for patience. Not even a full minute and Michael is already criticizing Castiel’s life and those in it.

“But that’s not why I called,” Michael continues.

“How disappointing. I was so looking forward to hanging up on you. Again. Why are you harassing me then?” Castiel snarks much to Dean’s undisguised glee. He shoots Castiel a thumbs up. Castiel rolls his eyes fondly despite the annoyance roiling in his chest.

Through the phone Michael makes a disgruntled noise, but then finally cuts to the chase.

“I’m sorry to tell you this over the phone. I certainly didn’t want to leave the information to you in an email or voicemail and you almost didn’t give me an option. I’ve been calling on my lunch break everyday for weeks now,” Michael complains. He takes a deep breath and Castiel braces himself.

“I have finally found our father. He’s dead,” Michael imparts, voice grave.

Castiel blinks.

“Okay,” he says slowly after a drawn out beat. He was expecting… he doesn’t know. Not that.

“That’s it? Just _okay_? Our father is _dead_ , Castiel.”

There was a time, many years ago, when the news would have devastated Castiel. Their father went MIA over 20 years ago. Castiel was only a child, fresh out of kindergarten. There was never any closure. They never held a funeral. All of them (Castiel, Michael, Gabriel, and their now deceased mother) were so desperate to believe that he was still alive somewhere.

Castiel had actually originally joined the military with the express intent of gathering enough information to find him. That was before he was recruited by Anna to transfer from Army to Air Force to become a Pararescue Jumper. Even back then, he no longer felt that burning need to find his father.

And now… It’s been so long. Castiel hasn’t even thought of his father in years. Not since Dean showed up that day during Castiel’s physical therapy, fresh off the plane from Iraq. Before that even. Since he found his place on his PJ team. Knowing what became of his father… it changes absolutely nothing in Castiel’s life today.

“Do you feel nothing?” Michael demands in his ear. Castiel considers this.

“I feel… relief? Maybe? I’m not sure,” Castiel answers. Is numb an emotion? There is a long pause on Michael’s end. Castiel waits.

“Relief,” Michael repeats, latent anger under the words. “Does family mean nothing to you?”

Castiel laughs. He can’t help it. What a rich question coming from _Michael_ of all people. The man who disowned Castiel at 19 when Castiel told him that he’s gay. The man who drove off Gabriel whom they haven’t heard from in over a decade now. Maybe he’s dead, too. Michael, who didn’t come see his youngest brother while he was laid up in the hospital after having his leg amputated. The man who hasn’t tried to make contact at all with Castiel through the past eight years since then except to tell him that the father that he hardly knew has been dead for over 20 years. Of course Castiel laughs.

“Family is everything to me,” Castiel explains as calmly as he can manage despite the rage welling up behind his rib cage. “You and I just have very different definitions of family.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying that _Dean_ is my family. His family is my family. True family isn’t always the one you were born into.”

“That’s bullshit. We’re your family. You’re a Novak whether you like it or not and you always will be no matter how far you stray down your silly little path of rebellion,” Michael snaps.”

“No. I will be a Winchester. We haven’t set a date, but I am,”

“March 9th.”

Castiel moves the phone from his face and turns his attention to Dean.

“What?”

“March 9th,” Dean repeats, shifting nervously and wiping his palms on his jeans. “It’s uh, not exactly a traditional wedding month, I know, but uh… It’s my mom’s birthday and I just always thought… It’s be nice to make it a day to celebrate again, so…” Dean trails off with a shrug, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground while his left hand rubs at the back of his neck. “If you don’t-,”

Castiel presses a hard kiss to Dean’s lips and then pulls back. A tight ball of happiness warms Castiel’s chest as he looks up into Dean’s awestruck face, to the point that it hurts. Dean’s lips are parted slightly as his wide green eyes stare into Castiel’s blue ones.

“Fuck traditional,” Castiel says emphatically. “It’s perfect.”

A slow smile curves Dean’s lips and Castiel replaces the phone to his ear.

“Were you _kissing him_ while you were on the phone with me?!” Michael’s voice comes hissing through before Castiel even has the phone fully to his head.

“Enough,” Castiel barks. “I will not put up with your homophobic bullshit today. I am marrying Dean Winchester on March 9th.”

“You’re… What?! _Him_? And I am not homo- _homophobic_.” He says he last in a whisper.

“...I... beg your pardon?” Castiel says, completely nonplussed. Michael is the textbook definition of _homophobe_. Every non-heterosexual child’s worst nightmare in living flesh. Castiel would know.

“I’m not… Homosexual couples are becoming more pronounced in society. It would be poor business sense at this point to try and pit myself against them.”

Castiel waits. And waits. He stays silent for so long that Dean grows concerned and Michael calls his name. Still… there’s nothing. Michael offers no apologies. No olive branch back to him and his supposed ‘family’. Nothing.

“So your problem is with me specifically then,” Castiel says stiffly. Michael sighs heavily.

“I just don’t like having one in the family,” he says flippantly. Like it’s nothing. The words are a hard slap to Castiel’s face, made sharper because Castiel thought that Michael couldn’t hurt him anymore. He’d thought he’d grown past that.

“My _problem_ ,” Michael continues, oblivious as ever, “is with _Winchester_.”

The numbness, the shock, and the hurt recede with alarming swiftness, leaving only broiling fury in its stead.

“No. No, you don’t _get_ to have a problem with Dean. _You_ disowned _me_. You don’t get to be jealous now that I’ve finally found a family that loves and accepts me just as I am. You don’t have that right!”

Castiel doesn’t realize that he’s yelling until Dean brushes his fingertips over Castiel’s arm and Castile looks up to see every face in their area of the park turned towards him and silent. He takes a deep breath and lets it go.

“Don’t call me again Michael. I will not be going to father’s funeral. I wish for no further contact with you. I’ve moved on and wish to focus on _my_ family now. Goodluck with your life.”

Castiel removes the phone from his cheek and clicks end.

Everyone is still and quiet, such an unnatural occurrence in this family.

“Go ahead,” Castiel tells them with a put upon sigh.

Jo starts off the round of applause enthusiastically. It takes no time at all for the others to join; Garth, Dorothy, Charlie, Bobby, and even Jess, a pretty blonde girl that Sam brought with him. Soon Castiel finds himself in the middle of a swarm. Ellen hugs him first, squeezing him hard with a rough whispered, “I’m so proud of you,” in his ear causing tears to spring up in his eyes.

Sam is next, too long limbs holding him too tight. Then there’s Ash who smells like beer and Andrea with her sunny smile and soft skin. Then Benny the hairy furnace. Jo flings herself at him, expecting to be caught, which Castiel does with a muffled _umph_.

“It’s about damn time!” she crows in his ear over the noise of everyone else.

Then comes Meg, Anna, Kevin, and even Bobby gives him a solid thump on the back. It doesn’t calm until Garth’s three children run up, having no idea what’s happening but wanting to be a part of it regardless. Three year old Hestia trips over five year old John’s undone shoe lace, who then crashes into one year old Andy and the result is a pile up of screaming crying dirty children.

Garth and his wife Bess rush over to rectify the disaster and it’s the perfect diversion to end the hugfest. Not that Castiel’s untouched by the grandiose show of support (he shed tears) but he’s never exactly been a hugger.

Castiel turns and finds Dean just where he left him, now wearing a sweet smile as he watches Castiel bond further with his family. Castiel wipes under his eyes one last time and sniffs a little as he returns to Dean. Dean holds out his arms for his own hug and Castiel gratefully falls into it. He’s never been a hugger, but where Dean is concerned he can never get enough.

“Your dad’s dead?” Dean asks quietly against Castiel’s hair.

Castiel nods into Dean’s shoulder.

“It’s fine. I don’t care. It’s been so long.”

Castiel feels Dean nod and squeeze him a little tighter.

“Well if you decide to care later I’m here, okay? And if you decide you do want to go to the funeral then we’ll go and I’ll make sure Michael stays the hell away from you, okay?”

Castiel sniffs again and nods some more.

“Thank you, Dean,” he whispers.

They stand in each other’s arms for a few more minutes until Castiel finally steps back and wipes his eyes once more.

“Gimme your phone,” Dean says, making a grabby hand towards Castiel.

“Why?” Castiel asks, even as he hands the device over.

“Cuz I’m gonna change that damn ringtone. I’ll toss out that cassette too if I have to,” Dean says, frowning down at the phone rather than look at Castiel while he says such things. That ball of happiness is back in Castiel’s chest. Castiel leans forward and presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek.

“You wouldn’t throw out your music for anything. Not even me,” he teases, knowing just how much Dean values his ancient music collection.

“Yeah, Cas. I would,” Dean says bending his head farther down as he scrolls through ringtone options to hide his face. Castiel smiles. While he doesn’t truly believe Dean, he appreciates the sentiment.

“There. Avenged Sevenfold, _Gunslinger_. I think you’ll like it,” Dean says and hands Castiel his phone.

“Avenged Sevenfold? Isn’t that a bit... new for you?” Castiel asks, tucking the phone in his pocket without listening to the song despite not knowing it.

“Oh shut up.”

“Winchester! Are we doing this or what? I still need to kick your ass at bean bag toss!” Meg shouts across the grass.

“It’s _cornhole_!” Sam and Dean bellow back from opposite ends of the shelter site, the only actual native midwesterners of the group. The brought the cornhole game with them when they moved to Virginia from Kansas, claiming it to be a traditional BBQ game despite none of the rest of them ever having heard of it much less played it before.

“Whatever. Just get your asses over here so I can kick ‘em. You too Clarence. You’re on my team.”

“That’s no fair,” Dean immediately complains even as they all three follow their orders. Jess comes along with Sam, wanting to watch.

“Do you not believe you can win, Dean?” Castiel asks, all raised eyebrows and smirking lips.

“Be real, Cas,” Dean shoots back, not rising to the bait for once. “You _never_ lose.”

“Well you might’ve given up, but I haven’t,” Sam interjects. “Now budge over. I’m tossing.”

Despite Sam’s best efforts, Castiel and Meg stomp the Winchesters. Castiel has tried to explain the strategy of the game to Dean before, but he’s always preferred to just play “straight laced” and simply try to get the bag through the hole rather than trying to “sabotage” the other team like he accuses Castiel of doing. Castiel’s strategies are well within the rules. Castiel just plays to win.

Jess replaces Dean and they play another round. Sam is not ready to concede defeat just yet and Dean requires more pie. It’s then discovered that Jess is _damn good_ at cornhole. Good enough to keep Castiel on his toes. Word flies throughout their little gathering and soon enough almost the entire family is gathered around the game; heckling and cheering and cheating in true Winchester fashion.

“You got this babe!” Dean calls from where he’s bodily restraining Ash from knocking into Castiel and messing up his shot, pie long forgotten in the chaos.

Castiel swings his arm down and back and then back up and let’s the red bag soar high through the air. The bag hits the board with a _thunk_. It glides up the ramp, knocking Jess’s yellow bag off the side to the ground in the process, and then slips down into the hole.

The park positively _erupts_. Cheering and groaning and just plain screaming from all of them.

“Oh my God. Oh my _God_!,” Sam yells, his hands in his hair while Jess just laughs.

“Holy shit!” Dean exclaims, leaping onto Castiel’s back and nearly strangling him in the process. “You did it!”

“I _always_ win, Dean,” Castiel teases as soon as he can get some air, but he’s beaming so hard his cheeks ache.

“Hey, good game,” Jess says, appearing at Castiel’s side with her hand held out and a smile splitting her face. “I really thought I had you for a second there.”

“It was close,” Castiel agrees and they shake hands. “I’ll have to actually try when we play.”

“Salt in the wound, Cas!” Sam complains while Jess laughs.

“A single point!” Ash complains rather more loudly than necessary. “He came and snagged that point on the last toss! What did I just watch? I need a drink.”

Dean laughs and passes him a fresh beer from a cooler next to the shelter.

“How does it feel to still be the reigning Cornhole Champion, Cas?” Dean asks, nudging the man with his elbow and pressing a beer into his hand as well.

“It is a title that I shall hold with honor and dignity, as always,” Castiel replies solemnly, popping the tab on his beer while a very tipsy Garth giggles until he trips over a trash can.

“Well in your honor, Jess and I put something together and we’d like to show everyone,” Sam says with a grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes. Dean narrows his eyes and Castiel takes a sip from his beer, content to let Dean deal with whatever Winchester shenanigans are being dredged up now.

“What is it?” Dean asks, his eyes flicking about the park until they settle suspiciously on the shelter.

“We’ll show you,” Jess says cheerfully. “It’s in the shelter.”

Dean and Castiel trade glances, but follow and Sam begins to corral the rest of their clan to do likewise much to Castiel’s discomfort. It feels too much like it’s leading up to something involving public humiliation.

The shelter isn’t anything fancy. It has a wooden shingled roof with three sides open to the park and the fourth is a sturdy plain brick wall. Although today there is a flat white sheet stretched tight over the center of the wall and duct taped so it stays up. A projector lights the sheet with a blue Windows screensaver from where it sits propped on one of several picnic tables.

“What’s all this?” Dean asks, eyeing the familiar laptop hooked into the projector distrustfully. “Sam,” Dean says, warning coating his tone.

“Just a sec,” Sam insists, squeezing past Rufus and Bess in the now overfull shelter. “Take a seat. You’ll like it. I think.”

Castiel glances over at Dean, not assured in the least by the absent minded assurance. By the look on Dean’s face, he isn’t either, but he shrugs and they move over to an empty stretch of picnic bench sharing a table with Jo, Ellen, Bobby, and Ash.

“D’you guys know what’s going on?” Dean leans over the table to ask once they’re seated. Ellen shrugs and Castiel nervously sips his beer.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Bobby grumbles. “Now shut yer yap or we’ll miss it, whatever it is.”

Castiel turns back to the screen to see they’ve pulled up YouTube. Are they watching cat videos? That’s all Castiel uses YouTube for anyway. Sam selects his video and sets it to fullscreen and then turns to Castiel and Dean with a grin that Castiel can only describe as demonic.

“Oh my God,” Dean says and buries his face in his hands, but Castiel laughs. It bubbles up right out of him before he can even think to hold it back.

“ _Oh you asshole_ ,” Castiel on the screen says and then everyone else is laughing right along with him as the Castiel and Dean at the airport dissolve into childish bickering. Dean is still hiding his face while Jo slaps his arm repeatedly as she laughs uproariously.

Castiel worms one of his hands into Dean’s and gives it a squeeze. It’s the hand with the ring on it. Dean lifts his head and gives Castiel a small smile as the Dean on the screen above them cries, “ _You stole my ring!_ ” Even Dean lets out a chuckle.

The video goes until Castiel disappears around a corner while chasing after Dean and his ring and then it’s over.

Ellen immediately swoops over the table and grabs them up in a teary hug, insulting them throughout the entire thing.

“Hey, uh, Jess. Have you seen how many views this thing has?” Sam’s voice, nervous and uncertain, cuts through the merriment.

“Umm no? I just put it up this morning and haven’t had a chance to check it since. Why? Is it a lot?” Jess replies.

Sam laughs nervously and shoots a glance at Dean who does not look amused.

“Is a hundred thousand a lot?”

“A hundred...” Jess trails off, eyes wide. “Holy shit.”

Sam turns to Dean and Castiel, apology all over his features and his shoulders hunched. “I think you’ve gone viral.”

“Son of a bitch.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please please leave a comment! I love hearing feedback and it really does make my day! Shout out to Ariel for posting her amazing comment and motivating me to finish this sucker and post it! You're the best!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think!


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